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MEMOIR 


4 


ROBERT   WHEATON, 


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SELEQTIONS  FROM  HIS  WRITINGS. 

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BOSTON: 

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CONTENTS 


PAGE 

MEMOIR  1-124 


{  SBLBCTIONS  FROM  HIS  WRITINGS. 

The  Soukces  of  the  Divina  Comuedia  .    •    .        .        .  127 

Jasmin,  the  Barber  Poet 158 

Coquebel's  Experimental  Christianitt         .        •        .  182 

The  Revolution  in  Prussia 213 

The  Revolution  of  1848  in  Sicily        ....  271 

Schmidt's  History  of  the  Albigenses        .        .        .  301 

Thiers's  History  of  the  Cons0l.\te  and  the  Empire  344 

Memoir  of  the  late  Dr.  "Wheaton        ....  373 


'f  --8  ^H^  '?  ^.  '^ 


MEMOm. 


Egbert  Wheaton,  the  youngest  child  of  Henry  and 
Catherine  Wheaton,  was  born  in  New  York  on  the  5th 
of  October,  1826.  A  few  months  after  his  birth  his 
father  was  appointed  Charge  d'Affaires  to  Denmark, 
and  sailed  for  that  country  in  June,  1827.  The  first 
ten  years  of  Robert's  life,  with  the  exception  of  a  short 
visit  to  this  country  at  too  early  an  age  for  him  to  re- 
ceive any  durable  impression,  were  spent  in  Copenha- 
gen. Every  facility  for  education  is  afforded  in  that 
capital ;  teachers  are  numerous  and  moderate  in  their 
charges,  being  for  the  most  part  young  men  studying 
for  the  different  professions,  and  bearing  the  expressive 
title  of  Candidal.,  who  are  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
acquire  the  means  of  pursuing  their  own  studies. 
Robert  and  Henry  Edward,  his  elder  and  only  brother, 
therefore  received  private  instruction  from  teachers 
qualified  for  the  task.  Their  mother  was  almost  inva- 
riably present  at  their  lessons,  and  exacted  from  her 
sons  that  respect  and  submission  towards  those  who 
taught  them,  which  are  the  surest  means  of  enabling 
the  young  to  profit  by  what  they  learn,  as  well  as  of 
softening  the  task  of  education  to  the  teacher.     After 


2  MEMOIR    OF 

he  grew  up,  Robert,  recurring  one  day  to  some  event 
connected  with  his  childhood,  which  he  was  fond  of 
doing,  said  that  he  recollected  having  been  punished 
but  once  by  his  mother,  and  that  it  was  on  the  follow- 
ing occasion. 

The  young  man  who  came  daily  to  give  him  lessons, 
had  just  lost  his  mother,  and  this  misfortune,  joined  to 
ill  health,  poverty,  and  the  cares  of  a  numerous  family, 
rendered  him  really  an  object  of  compassion.  The 
children  were  enjoined  on  no  account  to  say  or  do  any 
thing  to  annoy  him  during  the  lesson.  But  Robert, 
with  the  thoughtlessness  of  childhood,  disobeyed  this 
injunction,  and  the  punishment  inflicted  on  him,  al- 
though no  very  severe  one,  probably  had  the  desired 
effect,  as  the  circumstance  seemed  to  have  made  an 
indelible  impression  on  his  mind. 

The  study  of  modern  languages  formed  an  essential 
part  of  Robert's  early  education.  Owing  to  the  close 
connection  of  Denmark  with  the  duchies  of  Schleswig 
and  Holstein,  German  is  universally  taught  and  spoken 
in  the  former  country,  and  as  a  child  he  spoke  it  with 
perfect  fluency.  He  likewise  understood  and  spoke 
Danish,  and  was  taught  French  at  the  same  time. 
With  History,  to  which  attention  is  more  closely  directed 
in  the  old  countries  of  Europe  than  in  our  own,  he  was 
early  made  familiar,  but  his  memory  was  not  laden 
with  dry  facts  and  dates,  and  the  knowledge  he  ac- 
quired was  adapted  to  a  child's  mind.  His  father,  with 
whom  History  was  a  favorite  subject  of  thought  and 
study,  was  in  the  habit  of  selecting  the  best  historical 
works  that  issued  from  the  English  press,  as  presents 
for  his  children,  and  frequently  talked  with  them  of  the 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  3 

great  characters  of  whom  they  had  been  reading. 
Almost  the  only  novels  he  himself  read  with  much 
pleasure,  were  those  of  Scott,  and  these  he  freely 
placed  in  the  hands  of  his  children,  as  making  History 
attractive,  and  at  the  same  time  breathing  a  sound  and 
healthy  tone  of  mind,  particularly  agreeable  to  him. 
Whenever  he  proposed  taking  his  children  to  the  theatre, 
it  was  to  see  what  he  called  '  a  good  tragedy,'  or  in 
other  words,  one  of  Oehlenschlager's  or  Schiller's  his- 
torical plays.  With  the  latter  Robert  was  very  familiar, 
and  there  was  in  after-life  no  poet  whom  he  quoted  so 
often  as  Schiller,  whose  noble  thoughts  never  failed  to 
call  forth  those  warm  feelings  which  lay  concealed 
under  so  calm,  and,  to  a  careless  observer,  so  unimpas- 
sioned  an  exterior. 

As  a  child,  Robert's  complexion  was  exceedingly 
brilliant,  and  gave  the  impression  of  perfect  health. 
At  the  age  of  six  years  a  bust  of  him  was  taken  by 
Bissen,  then  young  and, almost  unknown,  now  a  cele- 
brated artist,  and  was  considered  an  excellent  likeness. 
But  the  charm  of  his  face,  at  that  time,  consisted  rather 
in  the  mantling  color  of  his  cheek,  his  beautiful  golden 
hair  parted  on  a  brow  of  snowy  whiteness,  and  the 
open,  ingenuous  expression  of  his  countenance,  than  in 
regularity  of  feature.  Compared  to  his  studious  and 
dreaming  brother,  Robert  was  fond  of  noisy  and  active 
play,  and  a  curious  proof  of  the  entire  difference  in 
their  characters  and  tastes  was,  that  when  they  played 
together  there  was  a  mutual  understanding  that  a  cer- 
tain portion  of  the  time  should  be  devoted  to  Edward's 
quiet  and  imaginative  amusements,  and  the  rest  to 
Robert's  more  stirring  and  childlike  games,  although 


4  MEMOIR    OF 

the  natural  impetuosity  of  the  latter  sometimes  led  him 
to  break  through  this  self-imposed  restraint  rather  sooner 
than  had  been  agreed  upon,  or  than  stiited  his  brother. 
Neither  having  attended  schools,  they  had  formed  no 
intimacies  with  other  boys  of  their  age,  and  they  were 
dependent  on  each  other  for  amusement  and  society 
more  than  is  usually  the  case  ;  and  while  Edward  relied 
upon  Robert's  superior  judgment,  and  probably  always 
would  have  done  so  in  all  matters  connected  with 
practical  life,  the  latter  looked  up  to  him  with  the  fond 
admiration  which  the  precocity  of  his  mind  in  some 
respects,  and  his  extensive  information  justified. 

The  climate  of  the  Island  of  Zealand  is  not  unlike 
that  of  England,  the  frequent  rains  and  the  moisture 
from  the  sea  serving  constantly  to  renew  the  freshness 
of  the  grass  and  foliage,  while  the  beauty  and  abun- 
dance of  its  beech  woods,  with  their  almost  transparent 
leaves  and  white  bark,  give  a  peculiar  character  to  its 
scenery.  The  Dyre  hauge,  or  Deer  Park,  is  a  mag- 
nificent forest  about  four  miles  from  Copenhagen.  It 
is  a  royal  domain,  in  which  the  king  reserves  the  right 
to  hunt,  but  which,  at  all  limes  open  to  the  public,  is 
a  favorite  resort  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  capital,  who 
spend  much  of  their  time  in  out-of-door  exercise  and 
amusements.  The  road  leading  to  this  park  runs  along 
the  seashore,  and  is  studded  at  short  intervals  with 
pretty  country-seats,  embowered  in  lilacs  and  laburnums, 
to  which  the  Danes  give  the  poeticaUname  of  *  golden 
rain.'  On  a  clear  day  the  opposite  coast  of  Sweden 
is  discernible  from  this  road,  and  at  all  times  the  blue 
Baltic,  dotted  with  the  red  and  white  sails  of  fishing 
boat?,  afibrds  a  pleasant  prospect.     Large  vessels  are 


EGBERT    WHEATON.  5 

frequently  seen  passing  up  and  down  the  Sound  on 
their  way  to  Copenhagen  or  St.  Petersburg,  saluted  as 
they  pass  from  the  battery  of  Trekroner  (Three 
Crowns),  which  defends  the  entrance  to  the  harbor  of 
Copenhagen.  In  his  journal,  written  in  1827,  Mr. 
Wheaton  mentions  the  Russian  fleet  passing  through 
the  Sound  on  its  way  from  Greece,  after  the  battle  of 
Navarino.  He  usually  resided  in  this  neighborhood 
during  the  summer  months,  and  it  was  perhaps  owing 
to  the  fact  that  Robert's  happy  childhood  was  passed  near 
the  sea,  that  the  sight  of  the  ocean  always  gave  him 
such  intense  pleasure.  While  in  the  country,  a  young 
German,  simple-hearted  and  conscientious,  came  from 
town  eveiy  afternoon  to  give  him  lessons,  and  at  sun- 
set, when  the  hours  of  study  were  over,  would  walk  in 
the  garden  with  him,  repeating  the  poetry  with  which 
his  memory  was  stored,  or  talking  of  the  journey 
throughout  Europe,  which,  like  so  many  of  his  coun- 
trymen, during  his  student-life  he  performed  chiefly  on 
foot.  Occasionally  he  would  at  Robert's  request,  com- 
pose verses  on  a  given  subject,  and  how  much  Robert 
prized  them  and  the  associations  they  called  to  his 
mind,  may  be  inferred  from  his  having  carefully  copied 
them  into  his  note-book  some  twelve  years  afterwards. 
In  the  north  of  Europe,  Christmas  is  kept  as  a  season 
of  great  festivity,  and  the  custom,  so  often  alluded  to 
by  Hans  Anderson  and  Fredrike  Bremer,  of  covering 
a  tree  with  brilliant  tapers  and  fanciful  ornaments,  is 
universal.  Easter,  likewise,  is  observed  with  consider- 
able solemnity,  and  Paschal  eggs  curiously  painted, 
with  lambs  of  snow-white  wool,  bearing  the  red  banner 
of  the  cross,  are  bestowed  on  children,  to  remind  them 


6  MEMOIR    OF 

of  the  joyful  anniversary  of  the  most  solemn  Christian 
festivals.  These  seasons  never  passed  unnoticed  in 
Mr.  Whcaton's  family,  and  when  years  had  elapsed 
and  death  had  invaded  the  domestic  circle,  they  became 
to  Robert  the  occasion  of  melancholy  reflection. 
Easter  was  associated  in  his  mind  with  such  tender 
memories  of  childhood,  of  the  dawn  of  life  and  open- 
ing Spring,  that  he  could  never  read  that  beautiful 
passage  where  Goethe  so  admirably  describes  the  effect 
produced  upon  Faust  by  the  Easter  Hymn  which  pene- 
trates his  solitary  study,  without  irrepressible  emotion. 

It  was  Robert's  good  fortune  to  associate  from  child- 
hood with  persons  of  high  principle  and  cultivated 
minds,  and  although  before  he  left  Copenhagen  he 
might  be  considered  too  young  to  profit  much  by  the 
conversation  of  those  who  visited  at  the  house  of  his 
parents,  the  impressions  made  on  him  at  that  time 
doubtless  had  their  influence  upon  his  character  and 
manners.  There  is  usually  a  good  deal  of  esprit  de 
corps  among  diplomats,  or,  as  has  been  cleverly  said, 
a  sort  of  free-masonry  that  binds  them  together  and 
makes  them  recognisable  everywhere.  This  was  pe- 
culiarly the  case  in  Copenhagen,  where  the  diplomatic 
corps  lived  on  the  most  amicable  terms. 

Although  Mr.  Whcaton's  position  made  him  ac- 
quainted with  the  officers  of  the  Danish  government, 
and  his  personal  tastes  with  the  literary  men  of  the 
country,  his  more  intimate  circle  consisted  chiefly  of 
members  of  the  corps  diplomatique,  who,  if  not  all 
men  of  talent,  were  necessarily  men  of  considerable 
general  information  and  polished  manners. 

The  chaplain  of  the  British  Legation,  Mr.  J.  W. 


ROBERT   WHEATON,  7 

Warter,  a  most  gentlemanlike,  cultivated  and  amiable 
man,  who  afterwards  became  the  son-in-law  of  Robert 
Southey,  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  house,  and  in  the 
habit  of  bestowing  much  notice  and  regard  on  the 
two  boys.  They  did  not  attend  his  chapel,  however, 
their  mother  preferring  to  read  family  prayers  morning 
and  evening,  and  on  Sundays,  chapters  from  the  New 
Testament  and  a  portion  of  the  Church  Service.  It 
was,  perhaps,  because  never  compelled  in  childhood  to 
listen  to  long  sermons  which  he  gould  not  understand, 
and  religion  not  being  a  hackneyed  theme  with  him, 
that  he  afterwards  felt  so  strong  an  interest  in  the 
services  he  attended,  and  never  considered  them  as  a 
mere  routine.  Some  of  his  views  on  the  subject  of 
public  worship  will  be  found  in  his  journal  and  letters. 
It  was  in  the  year  1835,  that  Mr.  Wheaton  was 
removed  to  Berlin,  but  his  family  were  detained  in 
Copenhagen  until  the  following  summer,  by  the  severe 
illness  of  one  of  its  members.  They  left  that  capital 
and  the  friends  they  had  found  there  with  sincere 
regret,  and  Mr.  Wheaton  often  recalled  the  years  he 
spent  there,  engaged  in  his  diplomatic  duties  and 
literary  labors,  as  among  the  happiest  of  his  life. 
To  Robert,  the  recollections  connected  with  Denmark 
were  always  very  dear ;  the  streets,  the  public  walks 
and  drives,  were  all  associated  in  his  mind  with  pleas- 
ant memories  ;  the  language,  harsh  as  it  may  seem 
to  those  unaccustomed  to  it,  sounded  gratefully  in  his 
ear,  and  within  the  last  year  of  .his  life,  having  occa- 
sion to  see  some  Danish  seamen  on  business,  he 
remarked  to  a  friend,  that  he  never  met  a  Dane 
without  a  feeling  of  strong  gratification,  and  a  con- 


8  MEMOIR   OF 

viction  that  he  must  be  honest  and  kind-hearted  like 
the  persons  he  had  known  in  that  country. . 

Denmark  was  indeed  the  happy  home  of  his  child- 
hood, and  as  Oehlenschlager,  the  Danish  poet,  truly 
says: 

Og  ingensteds  er  Roser  rode, 
Og  ingensteds  er  Tome  smaa, 
Og  ingensteds  er  Duun  saa  blode, 
Som  de,  vor  Barndom  hwilte  paa.* 

In  Berlin,  Robert  and  his  brother  were  placed  at  a 
day-school  or  gymnasium,  where  a  system  was  pur- 
sued so  little  in  accordance  with  their  refinement  of 
habit  and  thought,  that  after  a  few  months  they  were 
removed  from  this  institution,  and  a  private  tutor 
provided  for  them.  A  young  man  from  the  Rhenish 
Provinces,  who  spoke  and  wrote  French  and  German 
with  equal  fluency,  and  came  highly  recommended, 
was  the  person  whom  Mr.  Wheaton  chose  as  instructor 
for  his  sons.  But  the  pleasure  of  passing  some  time  in 
a  large  capital  seemed  to  have  been  this  young  man's 
chief  motive  for  accepting  a  responsibility  he  was 
ill  calculated  to  sustain,  and  after  a  year  passed  in  the 
family,  he  was  dismissed.  Robert  gave  a  striking 
proof  of  his  straight-forwardness  and  sense  of  honor, 
by  not  seeking  to  conceal  from  his  parents  the  inatten- 

•  To  the  kindness  of  Professor  Longfellow  we  are  indebted 
for  the  following  translation  of  these  lines : 

Ab  !  nowhere  is  the  rose  so  red, 
Anil  nowhere  is  the  thorn  so  small, 
And  nowhere  is  the  down  so  soft, 
As  those  our  chiklhood  rested  oa. 


ROBERT    WHEATON. 


9 


tion  and  carelessness  of  his  tutor,  who  wasted  the 
time  of  his  pupils  in  frivolous  conversation  .concerning 
the  visitors  he  saw  every  evening  in  the  drawing-room. 
On  the  contrary,  he  complained  of  this,  and  ex- 
pressed great  satisfaction  when  his  tutor  left.  Indeed, 
from  his  boyhood  he  seems  to  have  entertained  the 
highest  sense  of  the  duties  and  responsibilities  attached 
to  the  task  of  education. 

At  this  period  of  Robert's  life,  his  mind  may  be 
said  to  have  been  greatly  under  the  influence  of  his 
brother,  to  whom,  as  we  have  before  said,  he  looked 
up  with  admiring  fondness.  Edward  was  indeed  an 
uncommon  boy.  His  disposition  was  sweet,  humble, 
and  yielding ;  if  reproved,  the  tears  would  roll  silently 
down  his  cheek,  but  he  never  uttered  a  hasty  or  impa- 
tient word.  His  complexion  was  exquisitely  delicate, 
his  cheek  round,  soft,  and  fair  as  that  of  an  infant, 
and  his  hazel  eyes  full  and  lustrous.  They  were 
generally  cast  down,  but  when  he  raised  them,  his 
whole  soul  seemed  to  shine  through  them.  Exquisite- 
ly neat  in  his  person,  his  clothes  were  never  soiled,  his 
books  never  defaced,  nor  his  playthings  broken,  and 
the  presence  of  a  spot  upon  his  hands,  a  blot  of  ink 
on  his  paper,  or  a  dog-ear  in  his  books,  gave  him  posi- 
tive pain.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  sports  that  other 
boys  delight  in ;  it  was  even  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
that  he  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  the  exercise 
so  necessary  to  his  health.  His  greatest  pleasure  was 
reading,  and  when  he  went  out  to  walk  or  drive,  he 
usually  carried  a  book  with  him.  His  favorite  lounge 
in  Berlin  was  in  Asher's  bookstore,  Unter  den  Linden. 
Thither  he  went  almost  daily  and  returned  home  with 


10  MEMOIR    OF 

some  new  book,  which  he  wished  his  father  to  buy. 
There  was  another  source  from  which  he  derived 
much  entertainment.  Wood-cuts,  representing  the  prin- 
cipal characters  in  popular  plays,  are  sold  in  every 
part  of  Germany  for  the  amusement  of  children. 
These  he  colored,  and  having  fastened  them  to  wooden 
stands,  either  invented  dramatic  scenes  which  he  made 
them  perform,  or  repeated  passages  from  some  of  the 
French  tragedies.  In  all  his  plays  the  imagination 
had  a  great  share.  As  an  instance  of  this,  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  imagining  himself  in  the  French 
Academy,  and  with  his  brother  for  his  sole  auditor, 
would  make  speeches  in  the  name  of  d'Alembert, 
La  Harpe,  or  some  other  celebrated  academician  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  With  the  names  and  history 
of  the  principal  men  of  that  time,  he  was  as  familiar 
as  with  those  of  the  persons  who  surrounded  him  in 
real  life.  Like  most  individuals  of  delicate  constitu- 
tion, he  was  averse  to  early  rising,  and  equally  so  to 
retiring  early,  which,  as  he  suffered  constantly  from 
headache,  his  parents  felt  it  a  duty  to  insist  upon. 
But  night  after  night,  when  under  the  lamp  suspended 
in  his  father's  study,  he  sat  poring  over  some  favorite 
book,  he  would,  when  reminded  that  it  was  time  to 
go  to  bed,  request,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  be  allowed 
*  just  to  finish  that  one  chapter.'  And  it  was  difficult  to 
resist  importunities  urged  in  so  childlike  a  manner. 
Although  the  Arabian  Nights  and  other  works  of  the 
imagination  afforded  him  great  delight,  he  read  and 
studied  intently  works  of  an  entirely  different  char- 
acter. History,  geography,  and  chronology,  particu- 
larly engaged  his  attention.      The  Atlas  of  Lesage, 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  11 

(or  rather  of  Count  Las  Cases,  the  faithful  companion 
of  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena,  who,  during  the  emigra- 
tion, had  assumed  this  fictitious  name,)  lay  ever  open 
before  him,  and  one  day  as  he  was  bending  over  it,  his 
mother  said  :  '  I  should  think  you  must  have  read  that 
entirely  through.'  He  looked  up,  and  while  a  smile 
peculiar  to  him,  for  there  was  a  great  deal  of  quiet 
humor  in  his  nature,  stole  over  his  face,  he  replied : 
'  This  is  the  third  time  I  have  read  it  through.' 

It  is  rather  singular  that,  with  an  intellect  so  early 
developed,  and  with  such  a  fund  of  general  informa- 
tion as  he  had  acquired,  he  should  seldom  have  put 
pen  to  paper.  But  a  few  of  his  letters  are  remaining, 
yet  they  are  strikingly  characteristic  of  the  system 
which  marked  every  thing  he  did.  The  manuscript 
books  he  left  contain  chiefly  chronological  tables,  but 
that  he  had  within  him  the  materials  for  becoming  a 
distinguished  man,  no  one  who  knew  him  could  well 
doubt,  and  that,  childlike  as  he  was  in  many  respects, 
he  vaguely  aspired  after  distinction,  may  be  inferred 
from  his  curious  habit  of  inscribing  on  the  cover  of 
some  of  his  manuscript  books :  '  (Euvres  completes  de 
Henri  Edonard  W.^  His  plans  for  reading  and 
writing  seemed  to  have  reference  to  that  future  which 
he  was  never  destined  to  see.  French  was  the  lan- 
guage he  preferred,  in  which  he  read  most,  and  which, 
through  his  familiarity  with  the  best  French  authors, 
he  had  taught  himself  to  write  correctly  before  visiting 
France.  He  had  read  many  of  the  works  of  Fenelon 
and  Bossuet,  Racine  and  Voltaire,  and  led  his  brother 
to  do  so  likewise.  Mr.  Wheaton  had  visited  France 
immediately  on  leaving  college,  and  had  spent  some 


13  MEMOIR    OF 

time  at  Poitiers,  for  the  purpose  of  studying  the  French 
language  and  attending  the  courts  of  law.  The  kind- 
ness he  then  met  with,  and  the  pleasant  recollections  of 
that  period  of  his  life,  gave  him  a  strong  feeling  of 
attachment  to  that  country,  and  made  him  anxious  that 
his  sons  should  have  an  opportunity  of  profiting,  as  ho 
had  done,  by  its  various  resources.  Satisfied,  too,  that 
the  system  of  public  instruction  pursued  in  Berlin  was 
better  calculated  to  meet  the  wants  of  young  men  than 
of  boys,  and  that  a  course  of  private  instruction  in  that 
city  had  its  disadvantages  for  one  destined  to  live  in 
a  free  country,  he  determined  to  place  Robert  at  a 
French  boarding-school.  In  August,  1838,  he  entered 
the  institution  of  Mr.  D.,  designed  for  the  preparation 
of  pupils  for  college.  Edward's  health  being  as 
before  said,  extremely  delicate,  it  was  not  thought 
advisable  to  send  him  from  home  at  that  time,  and  he 
remained  in  Berlin. 

Until  that  period,  Robert  had  never  passed  a  single 
night  away  from  his  parents'  roof,  and  he  felt  the 
separation  from  them  deeply.  It  was  not  that  he 
regretted  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  home,  but  the 
society  of  his  parents  and  sisters  and  the  companion- 
ship of  his  brother.  Every  line  of  the  letters  he  wrote 
at  that  time,  show  how  difficult  it  was  for  him  to 
become  reconciled  to  living  far  from  them,  and  in 
each  he  entreats,  in  the  most  earnest  manner,  that 
tince  it  must  be  so,  they  will,  at  least,  write  him 
often. 

Notwithstanding  his  extreme  desire  to  be  with  his 
brother,  he  had  even  at  this  early  age  sufficient  ob- 
servation and  maturity  of  character  to   think  that  a 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  13 

public  school,  like  that  which  he  attended,  would  never 
suit  the  peculiar  habits  and  tastes  of  Edward,  ^hose 
intellect  was  of  that  description  which  baffles  the 
guidance  of  a  schoolmaster,  and  must  be  allowed  full 
scope  in  the  attainment  of  learning.  Beside  this,  his 
abstracted  manner,  which  caused  one  of  his  mother's 
friends  to  name  him  'the  Dominie,'  was  not  such  as 
to  meet  with  much  quarter  from  schoolboys,  and  the 
sensitive  dread  of  ridicule  which  early  characterized 
Robert,  made  him  shrink  from  seeing  Edward  exposed 
to  it.  His  parents,  however,  judged  otherwise,  and 
towards  the  end  of  1839  Edward  entered  the  same 
Institution,  and  Mr.  Wheaton  having  .obtained  leave  of 
absence  from  government,  passed  the  winter  in  Paris 
with  his  family,  in  the  hope  that  the  boys  would  both 
have  become  sufficiently  accustomed  to  their  school  to 
make  it  practicable  to  leave  them  in  the  spring.  And 
indeed  Edward  seemed  contented  far  beyond  what  had 
been  anticipated,  and  it  was  thought  that  associating 
with  other  boys  would  be  of  real  use  in  developing 
and  strengthening  his  character,  but  these  hopes  were 
not  destined  to  be  realized. 

Towards  the  end  of  March,  1840,  he  was  suddenly 
and  violently  attacked  with  scarlet  fever,  and  expired 
after  an  ilhiess  of  three  days,  unconscious  of  the  void 
his  loss  would  create  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  loved 
him.       ......... 

On  no  one  did  this  blow  fall  more  heavily  than  on 
Robert,  who  never  entirely  recovered  from  it.  One 
short  night  of  agony  seemed  to  have  produced  an 
entire  change  in  his  whole  being.  Had  his  grief  been 
noisy   and   vehement   like   that   of   most   children,  it 


14  MEMOIR   OF 

would  doubtless  have  been  as  evanescent,  but  quiet 
and  Concentrated,  it  was  alike  touching  and  terrible  to 
behold,  and  made  a  lasting  impression  on  his  heart 
and  character.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Lowell,  of  Boston,  then 
in  Paris,  visited  the  family  daily.  To  the  consolation 
which  he  so  well  knew  how  to  impart,  Robert  listened 
with  earnest  attention,  and  from  that  time  the  anticipa- 
tion of  another  and  ar  happier  state  of  existence  was 
never  far  from  his  thoughts. 

The  two  following  notes,  written  after  his  return  to 
school,  will  doubtless  be  read  with  interest.  They  are 
addressed  to  his  eldest  sister,  and  written  in  French, 
the  language  ha  usually  adopted  in  communicating 
with  his  sisters : 

♦  Dear  M , 

'  I  write  you  because  I  promised  to  do  so,  for  I  have 
really  nothing  to  tell  you  ;  but  one  ought  always  to  be 
able  to  write  a  letter,  and  the  event  which  three 
months  ago  tore  asunder  the  ties  which  till  then  had 
been  unbroken,  cannot  but  furnish  us  a  subject  of 
reflection.  I  noticed  yesterday  that  mamma  was  still 
very  sad  ;  but  she  should  endeavor  for  the  sake  of 
those  who  are  left  her,  —  not  to  forget,  that  were 
impossible,  —  but  to  console  herself,  and  by  so  doing 
to  comfort  us  likewise.  The  goodness  6f  God  may 
be  traced  in  this  ua  in  all  other  decrees  of  his  infinite 
wisdom.  When  he  sent  us  this  affliction  he  spared  us 
so  severe  an  illness,  and  has  since  preserved  our 
health.  Before  this  event,  nothing  was  wanting;  we 
were  happy,  if  it  is  possible  to  be  so  in  this  world. 
This  sorrow  was  necessary,  for  if  we  were  perfectly 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  15 

happy  on  the  earth,  we  should  feel  too  much  regret  at 
leaving  it.  It  is  desirable  that  some  beloved  lleing 
should  act  as  forerunner,  and  calling  to  us  from 
heaven,  should  entreat  us  to  live  in  unity,  that  we  may 
all  meet  again  in  a  better  world.' 

'  I  write  to  you  to-day,  dear  M ,  I  scarcely  know 

why,  but  probably  for  my  own  gratification.  In  look- 
ing over  the  papers  I  spoke  to  you  of  yesterday,  I 
found  the  chronological  table  he  made  in  Coj^enhagen, 
in  1834,  and  also  the  drama  I  mentioned.  The  hand- 
writing is  very  singular,  and  the  orthography  likewise. 
I  will  bring  them  to  you  on  Saturday,  for  if  nothing 
prevents,  I  shall  be  with  you  at  five  on  that  day.  Tell 
mamma  to  go  out  often,  and  to  be  resigned  as  far  as 
possible  to  the  cruel  loss  she  has  met  with.  I  cannot 
ask  or  wish  her  to  forget  what  has  happened.  It 
would  be  contrary  to  nature ;  but  let  her  endeavor  to 
be  calm,  believe  that  it  is  for  the  best,  and  remain 
firm  in  the  conviction  that  God  has  takea-^are  of  him, 
and  that  we  shall  see  him  again  in  a  better  world. 
This  we  may  ask  of  her,  and  this  she  ought  to  grant. 
The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  impossible  it  seems 
that  he  should  have  left  us,  especially  as  no  one  here 
speaks  of  him.  I  cannot  conceive  how  three  days  can 
have  made  such  ravages  !  But,  dear  sister,  let  us  seek 
in  fraternal  love  a  consolation  for  this  misfortune  ;  let 
us  love  each  other  tenderly,  more  tenderly  than  ever, 
so  that  when  God  demands  our  souls  we  may  not 
have  to  reproach  ourselves  with  not  having  loved  one 
another.  Let  us  love  our  mother,  too,  and  endeavor 
to  please  her.     Adieu,  dear  M ,  I  have  found  more 


16  MEMOIR    OF 

to  say  than  I  thoufrht  I  should,  but  I  have  written  of 
whdl  is  continually  in  my  thoughts.  I  see  so  many 
things  which  belonged  to  him,  that  I  cannot,  even  if  I 
would,  (and  why  should  I  wish  to?)  cease  thinking  of 
the  dear  brother  we  have  lost,  and  whom  we  shall 
certainly  meet  again  in  another  world,  if  we  do  our 
duty  towards  God  and  man.' 

It  is  impossible  for  those  who  know  how  well  the 
after-life  of  the  writer  corresponded  to  the  sentiments 
expressed  in  these  lines,  to  read  them  without  deep 
emotion.  The  same  unwavering  faith  which  supported 
him  then,  supported  him  in  another  and  more  terrible 
affliction  ;  the  same  hope  of  a  blessed  immortality  con- 
tinued to  animate  him ;  the  same  warm  affection  and 
sympathy  to  bind  him  to  those  whom  he  loved. 

But  a  few  days  after  his  brother's  death,  he  said  to 
his  mother,  '  How  I  wish  I  could  be  with  him  ! '  '  You 
would  not  wish  to  die  and  leave  me  ?  '  was  the  reply. 
*If  it  were  God's  will,  I  would  rather  die  than  live,'  he 
said  solemnly.  And  this  feeling  was  not  the  mere 
ebullition  of  childish  grief;  it  followed  him  through 
life,  and  it  is  at  times  a  melancholy  consolation  to  those 
who  have  loved  and  lost  him,  that  he  considered  a  long 
earthly  pilgrimage  as  no  blessing. 

As  an  only  son,  Robert  had  now  become  more  than 
ever  precious  to  his  family ;  and  it  was  neither  desir- 
able that  he  should  return  to  Germany,  nor  that  he 
should  be  left  alone  in  Paris.  It  was  therefore  decided 
that  his  mother  should  remain  with  him  until  his  studios 
were  completed.  After  a  short  though  delightful  ex- 
cursion in  Switzerland,  during  his  summer  vacation  in 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  17 

1840,  accompanied  by  his  family,  Robert  returned  to 
his  school  in  Paris.  It  was  then  that  he  commenced 
attending  the  religious  lectures  (Cours  de  Religion)  of 
M.  Athanase  Coquerel. 

It  is  the  custom  throughout  Europe,  both  among 
Catholics  and  Protestants,  to  cause  all  young  persons  to 
pass  through  a  regular  course  of  religious  instruction 
before  they  enter  on  the  business  of  life.  This  instruc- 
tion is  not  left  to  the  care  of  parents  who  may  or  may 
not  be  sensible  of  its  importance,  nor  to  Sunday-school 
teachers,  who  are  often  too  young  and  inexperienced 
to  be  suited  to  the  task.  It  devolves  upon  the  clergy, 
whose  knowledge  and  profession  command  the  respect 
it  is  so  desirable  should  be  felt  for  those  whose  duty  i 
is  to  instruct  on  this  subject.  At  the  moment  of  leav- 
ing school,  young  persons  attend  a  course  of  religious 
lectures,  are  subsequently  examined  by  the  clergyman 
who  gives  it,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  they  have 
profited  by  his  instruction,  and  if  the  examination  prove 
satisfactoiy,  are  admitted  to  the  Communion.  And 
what  epoch  of  life  could  be  better  suited  than  the  one 
chosen  for  the  participation  in  this  sacred  rite  ?  The 
cares  of  the  world,  its  business  and  its  pleasures,  have 
not  at  that  period  claimed  the  largest  share  of  the  time 
and  thoughts  of  the  young  communicants,  great  tempta- 
tions have  not  yet  assailed  them,  their  good  resolutions 
are  still  unshaken,  their  piety  is  lively  and  earnest,  and 
their  faith  unwavering. 

The  clergymen  of  the  French  Reformed  Church  are 

all  educated  at  Geneva,  or  at  the  Theological  Schools, 

founded    by  Napoleon   at  Strasburg  and  Montauban. 

They  differ  materially,  however,  in  the  opinions  they 

2 


18  MEMOIR   OF 

hold,  some  of  them  adhering  closely  to  the  tenets  of 
Calvin,  and  denying  to  all  Reformed  Christians  the 
right  of  departing  from  them  ;  while  others  teach  that 
to  be  a  good  Christian  or  a  good  Protestant,  a  blind  ac- 
quiescence in  the  doctrines  of  that  great  Reformer  is 
not  indispensable  and  ought  not  to  be  required.  The 
Rev.  M.  Coquerel  is  among  the  latter,  for  although  his 
faith  in  the  leading  doctrines  of  orthodox  Christianity 
is  firm  and  unwavering,  he  is  always  disposed  to  admit 
the  right  of  others  to  differ  from  him  in  opinion.  No 
two  minds,  he  constantly  repeats,  can  arrive  at  exactly 
the  same  degree  and  kind  of  faith,  and  therefore  noth- 
ing can  be  more  unjust  and  uncharitable  than  to  quar- 
rel with  those  who  do  not  believe  as  we  do.  All  his 
sermons  and  lectures  breathe  this  liberal  spirit,  united  to 
the  most  fervent  piety. 

Like  all  the  clergymen  of  the  French  Reformed 
Church,  M.  Coquerel  devotes  a  considerable  portion  of 
his  time  to  the  instruction  of  the  young.  A  little  work, 
prepared  by  himself,  and  called  Cours  de  Religion^ 
contains  the  heads  of  what  he  afterwards  devclopes  in 
his  lectures,  of  which  his  pupils  take  notes,  enlarging 
upon  them  at  home,  so  that  the  understanding  is  exer- 
cised as  well  as  the  memory,  and«they  are  induced  to 
reflect  on  the  subject  to  which  their  attention  is  drawn. 
M.  Coquerel  looks  over  what  they  have  written,  and  if 
he  perceives  that  they  have  misunderstood  h'ta  meaning, 
sets  them  right,  and  by  asking  them  some  judicious 
questions,  assists  them  in  arranging  their  own  ideas  and 
rendering  them  more  distinct.  His  language  is  simple, 
though  elegant,  his  explanations  lucid  and  satisfactory, 
and  his  manner  so  earnest  and  impressive  that  it  com- 


KOBERT    WHEATON.  19 

mands  the  entire  attention  and  respect  of  his  hearers. 
He  occasionally  enlivens  his  lecture  by  anecdotes  of 
distinguished  men  of  our  own  or  other  days,  by  the 
incidents  drawn  from  his  personal  experience,  and  by 
allusions  to  the  discoveries  of  modern  science,  all  of 
which,  in  his  opinion,  tend  to  establish  more  fii-mly  the 
truth  of  Revelation.  His  religious  belief  is  of  the 
most  cheerful  kind.  It  does  not  tend  to  separate  the 
Christian  from  the  world,  but  teaches  him  how  to  live 
in  it,  perform  its  duties,  and  join  in  the  innocent  enjoy- 
ments of  life,  with  the  thought  of  immortality  ever 
before  him. 

During  the  winter  of  1840-41,  Robert  constantly 
attended  M.  Coquerel's  church,  and  was  in  the  habit  of 
writing  out  his  sermons.  Although,  strictly  speaking, 
he  never  considered  the  forms  of  public  worship  of 
real  importance,  he  preferred  that  of  the  French  Re- 
formed Church  to  any  other,  as  combining  great  sim- 
plicity with  impressiveness.  The  service  opens  with  a 
chapter  from  the  New  Testament,  read  by  the  clerk, 
after  which  a  psalm  is  sung,  and  the  Ten  Command- 
ments read.  The  clergyman  then  enters  the  pulpit, 
and  repeats  a  written  confession  of  sins,  to  which  the 
congregation  mentally  respond.  Another  psalm  is  then 
sung,  followed  by  an  extemporaneous  prayer  from  the 
officiating  clergyman,  and  by  the  sermon.  After  the 
sermon,  the  Apostles'  Creed  and  prayers  for  the  mem- 
bers of  government  and  the  legislative  bodies,  for  the 
sick  and  afflicted,  are  read,  and  the  benediction  con- 
cludes the  service. 

Besides  the  regular  services  on  Sunday,  the  seasons 
of  Christmas,  Easter,  Pentecost  (or  Whitsunday),  and 


20  MEMOIR    OF 

the  Ascension,  are  all  commemorated  in  the  French 
Protestant  Churches,  whether  Lutheran  or  Reformed, 
and  those  descendants  of  the  Huguenots  who  live  in 
places  where  no  Protestant  worship  is  held,  usually 
come  to  Paris  on  one  of  these  great  festivals,  for  the 
purpose  of  partaking  of  the  Communion  with  their  fel- 
low-believers. 

It  was  on  the  day  of  Pentecost  (Whitsunday),  1841, 
that,  having  finished  his  course  of  religious  instruction 
and  passed  the  necessary  examination,  Robert  Wheaton 
was  received  into  the  Reformed  Church,  and  permitted 
to  partake  of  the  Communion,  which  he  did  with  the 
warmest  feelings  of  piety  and  reverence,  always  re- 
newed whenever  he  repeated  the  solemn  commemora- 
tion of  the  Saviour's  suffering  and  love. 

In  the  summer  of  1841,  Mr.  Wheaton  revisited 
Paris,  and  was  induced  to  yield  to  Robert's  earnest  re- 
quest that  he  might  leave  his  school.  Every  thing  there 
had  become  distasteful  to  him,  for  every  thing  reminded 
him  painfully  of  his  brother,  and  he  had  lost  his  only 
congenial  companion,  a  young  Englishman,  several 
years  his  senior,  who,  having  finished  his  education, 
had  returned  to  England.  This  friend  had  shown  him 
unvarying  kindness  from  the  time  he  entered  the 
school,  and  having  acquired  considerable  influence  over 
him,  was  of  use  in  forming  his  character.  They  con- 
tinued to  correspond  frequently  until  Robert  left  Europe, 

and  there  was  scarcely  one  of  Mr.  's  letters  but 

contained  some  good  advice,  playfully  though  feelingly 
expressed. 

The  warmth  and  even  tenderness  of  his  friend's 
feelings  towards  him  won  Robert's  heart,  and  the  fre- 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  21 

quent  admonitions  of  Mr.  ,  by  increasing  his  re- 
spect for  him,  strengthened  his  attachment.  It  was  a 
charming  trait  in  Robert's  character  that  he  never  re- 
ceived advice  ungraciously,  however  unpalatable  it 
might  be,  but  constantly  endeavored  to  profit  by  it.  He 
always  listened  to  the  reprimands  of  his  music  teacher 
with  the  greatest  patience  and  good  humor,  repeating 
the  same  passage  over  and  over  again.  He  respected 
this  young  teacher  because  he  had  a  frank  and  inde- 
pendent character,  understood  his  art  thoroughly  and 
taught  it  conscientiously.  Indeed,  this  was  the  only 
teacher  at  his  school  whom  Robert  really  liked,  being 
constantly  annoyed  at  the  carelessness  and  inattention 
of  most  of  them  ;  and  there  is  a  curious  note  of  his,  in 
which  he  speaks  of  having  dismissed  a  tutor  who  gave 
him  private  lessons  in  Latin  at  this  establishment,  be- 
cause he  came  irregularly,  a  proof  of  decision  of 
character  and  conscientiousness  not  very  common  at 
the  age  of  fourteen.  Of  the  Principal  of  the  school 
he  always  spoke  as  of  a  gentlemanlike,  amiable  man, 
though  his  extreme  lenity  to  the  errors  of  his  scholars, 
and  to  the  inattention  of  the  subordinate  teachers,  often 
surprised  him.  Dr.  Arnold  would  have  been  a  master 
after  Robert's  heart,  and  Dr.  Arnold  would  have  de- 
lighted in  such  a  pupil. 

Mr.  Whcaton  now  became  desirous  that  his  son 
should  embrace  the  profession  of  engineering,  as  being 
both  honorable  and  lucrative  in  this  country.  Robert 
therefore  began  to  apply  himself  to  the  study  of  math- 
ematics and  drawing,  with  a  person  highly  and  de- 
servedly recommended  for  this  branch.  During  two 
years  he  pursued  this  occupation  with  a  zeal  and  per- 


22  MEMOIR    OF 

severance  the  more  praiseworthy,  because  it  was  not 
naturally  congenial  to  him.  A  large  portfolio  filled 
with  drawings  and  plans  most  carefully  executed,  bear 
witness  to  his  industry  during  that  time.  But  his 
instructor,  a  shrewd  and  observing  man,  was  soon 
convinced  that  the  health  of  his  pupil  was  not  suf- 
ficiently strong  to  bear  the  exposure  and  hardships 
incident  to  the  practice  of  engineering.  He  therefore 
advised  him  to  turn  his  attention  to  architecture,  a  pro- 
.fession  which  stands  much  higher  in  Europe  than  in 
our  country,  as  it  is  devoted  to  the  erection  of  buildings 
of  great  elegance  and  magnificence ;  and  to  be  an 
architect  it  is  necessary  to  be  also  an  artist.  At  first 
Robert  seemed  to  like  this  idea,  but  discouraged  by 
communications  from  some  friends  of  his  father  in  the 
United  States,  he  gradually  lost  his  interest  in  it,  and 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  return  to  his  classical  studies. 
This  was  granted,  and  in  1843  he  entered  the  excellent 
school  of  M.  M.  Barbe  and  Massin,  which  was  a  branch 
of  the  College  Charlemagne. 

While  pursuing  his  mathematics,  he  had  not  alto- 
gether laid  aside  his  classical  studies.  During  the 
winter  evenings,  M.  dci  Santo  Mango,  a  Neapolitan  of 
high  birth,  but  exiled  from  his  country  on  account  of 
political  offences,  and  compelled  to  teach,  came  to  give 
him  instruction  in  Latin.  This  gentleman  being  intel- 
lectual and  extremely  well  informed,  Robert  had  great 
pleasure  in  conversing  with  him  on  subjects  connected 
with  history,  politics,  literature,  etc.,  as  well  as  in  read- 
ing the  Latin  authors  with  him.  In  a  letter  written  in 
1842,  his  father  says:  'I  am  glad  you  are  getting 
through  VirgH  so  pleasantly  under  the  guidance  of  Santo 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  23 

Mango.  Reading  such  a  poet  alone  is  but  dull  work, 
but  it  is  still  more  dull  to  read  with  a  mere  pedant.' 

And  in  another  letter  he  says  :  '  I  received  with 
great  pleasure  your  letter  with  the  Latin  translation  of 
Petrarch's  Sonnet.  It  is  now  before  me,  and  I  find  the 
Latin  verses  very  good.  There  is  no  better  exercise 
for  acquiring  a  complete  knowledge  of  that  language 
than  the  making  of  verses.  Hence  it  is  universally- 
adopted  in  the  public  schools  of  England.  I  am  glad 
you  find  both  pleasure  and  profit  in  Santo  Mango's 
lessons.  It  is  a  great  advantage  to  read  the  classics 
with  an  intelligent  master  who  knows  how  to  lighten 
the  labor.  I  hope  you  will  persevere  in  this  line,  as  it 
must  be  an  agreeable  relaxation  from  your  mathemati- 
cal studies.  Chancellor  d'Aguesseau,  I  think,  says: 
"  Le  changement  d'occupation  est  toujours  un  delasse- 
ment."     Indeed  he  knew  no  other.' 

Robert  always  recurred  to  the  year  spent  at  M. 
Barbe-Massin's  Institution  with  pleasure,  as  one  of 
the  most  profitable  of  his  life.  At  the  same  time  it 
was  not  devoid  of  such  recreation  as  suited  his  taste. 

At  this  time,  and  as  long  as  he  was  in  Paris,  his 
evenings  were  almost  invariably  spent  at  home.  He 
remained  in  his  own  room  reading  and  writing  till  nine 
o'clock,  then  went  to  the  drawing-room,  and  after 
taking  a  cup  of  tea,  went  to  the  piano,  where  he  often 
remained  several  hours.  He  had  early  felt  the  influ- 
ence of  that  musical  cultivation  which  pervades  Con- 
tinental Europe,  taking  different  forms  of  expression, 
according  to  the  various  elements  it  finds  with  which 
to  work.  In  sunny  Italy,  nature  developes  the  most 
beautiful  voices,  and  careful  culture,  combined  with 


24  MEMOIR   OF 

her  harmonious  language,  forms  there  the  most  perfect 
singers.  But  in  the  North,  music  is  looked  upon  as 
a  science,  studied  with  all  the  serious  perseverance 
peculiar  to  its  inhabitants,  and  there  instrumental  music 
may  be  heard  in  the  greatest  perfection.  In  the 
eighteenth  century  a  new  impulse  was  given  to  the 
study  of  music,  and  since  that  period  it  has  formed  a 
branch  of  education,  seldom  neglected  even  by  persons 
of  moderate  means,  so  that  it  is  rare  to  meet,  among 
educated  members  of  society,  with  persons  who  have 
not  some  appreciation  of  the  art.  Its  soothing  and 
refining  influences  are  not,  however,  confined  to  any 
particular  class.  To  say  nothing  of  the  opera,  which 
we  find  in  every  small  town  of  Italy  and  Germany, 
public  .-concerts  and  excellent  military  music  give 
inncMjent  pleasure  and  gratification  to  the  peasant  and 
to  liie  artisan.  These  influences,  of  course,  acted  on 
Robert's  natural  taste  for  music,  which  seemed  to 
increase  with  every  year.  It  was  encouraged  by  his 
mother,  hoaelf  very  fond  of  music,  and  never  dis- 
couraged by  his  father,  who,  either  from  want  of  early 
cultivation  or  of  natural  ear,  was  debarred  from  what 
he  always  felt  must  be  so  great  an  enjoyment,  and  to 
the  studious  man  so  desirable  a  rela-xation. 

There  was  nothing  from  which  Robert  derived  so 
much  pleasure  as  an  evening  at  the  Italian  Opera,  and 
during  the  winters  of  1842-43,  he  often  went  thither 
with  his  mother  and  sisters.  This,  of  course,  con- 
duced greatly  to  improve  his  musical  taste.  He  also 
continued  to  take  lessons  from  the  teacher  we  have 
before  mentioned,  himself  a  thorough  musician,  who 
took  great  delight  in  teaching  so  apt  a  scholar.     In  a 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  25 

sudden  burst  of  enthusiasm  he  would  sometimes  ex- 
claim :  '  If  I  were  you,  I  would  be  one  of  the  first 
pianistes  in  Europe  ! ' 

Robert  played  with  exquisite  taste  and  feeling ; 
brilliant  music  he  seldom  selected  for  his  own  per- 
formance, usually  preferring  the  profound,  melancholy, 
and  harmonious  compositions  of  Beethoven,  Dohler, 
Henselt,  Chopin,  Beyer,  etc.,  and  some  other  com- 
posers of 'the  day  who  suited  his  style  of  playing. 
Music  was  so  great  a  source  of  enjoyment  to  him, 
that  a  friend  of  his  in  this  country  once  said,  that 
though  he,  himself,  knew  not  a  note  of  music,  and 
that  in  some  cases  it  alrnost  annoyed  him,  he  always 
took  pleasure  in  sitting  in  Robert's  room  while  he 
played,  because  he  seemed  to  derive  such  intense 
satisfaction  from  it. 

He  often  expressed  regret  that  music  should  be  so 
little  understood  in  this  country,  and  was  at  times  dis- 
couraged in  his  own  attempts  by  the  want  of  stimulus. 
The  loss  of  voice,  occasioned  by  the  bronchial  affec- 
tion from  which  he  suffered  during  the  last  two  years 
of  his  life,  was  a  serious  privation  to  him.  Well 
acquainted  with  the  scientific  principles  of  music,  he 
understood  the  art  of  composition,  and  often  sought  in 
it  a  resource  against  a  weary  hour. 

Although  he  did  not  go  into  society  with  his  fomily, 
he  had,  particularly  when  Ws  father  was  in  Paris, 
opportunities  of  seeing  distinguished  men  at  home. 
The  Danish  poet,  Oehlenschlager,  spent  a  winter  in 
Paris,  and  often  visited  them,  so  also  Dr.  Bowring,  an 
old  and  valued  friend  of  his  family  ;  Alfred  de  Vigny, 
the  author  of  Cinq-Mars ;  M.  Leon  Faucher,  the  editor 


26  MEMOIR    OF 

of  the  Courrier  Franpais  ;  the  poet  Mamiani,  at  that 
time  an  exile,  but  afterwards  the  Minister  of  Pius  IX. ; 
Leopard!,  another  Italian  man  of  letters,  who  now 
shares  the  fate  of  Poerio  and  other  Neapolitan  liberals. 
With  these  gentlemen  he  conversed,  though  always 
very  modestly,  for  without  any  undue  dilTidence  or 
affected  humility  as  to  his  own  capacity,  he  felt  deeply 
that  respect  for  persons  older  than  himself  and  of 
acknowledged  merit,  which  an  European  education  so 
strongly  inculcates.  When  he  did  not  converse,  he 
listened  with  great  attention,  and  as  his  memory  was 
excellent,  his  head  clear,  and  his  power  of  discrimi- 
nating character  remarkable  in  one  so  young,  he  could 
not  but  profit  by  being  a  listener  when  in  the  society 
of  such  men. 

In  1844  he  spent  his  vacation,  during  the  months  of 
August  and  September,  at  Fontainebleau,  where  his 
father  joined  the  family.  Robert  enjoyed  his  residence 
^there  exceedingly.  Every  morning  after  breakfast  he 
went  with  his  sisters  to  the  beautiful  forest,  where  they 
remained  all  the  forenoon  wandering  beneath  the 
magnificent  old  trees,  or  reclining  on  moss-clad  stones, 
inhaling  the  fragrance  of  the  wild  thyme,  gathering 
the  rose-colored  heath  which  grows  there  in  such 
profusion,  or  watching  the  green  and  golden  lizards  as 
they  crept  out  to  sun  themselves. 

Some  evenings  were  spent  at  the  house  of  Count 
d'Andigne,  to  whom  a  common  friend  had  given  a 
letter  of  introduction,  and  where  an  opportunity  offered 
of  seeing  something  of  French  provincial  society,  so 
different  from  that  of  the  capital.  The  Count  was 
quite  an  elderly  person,  and  had  served  in  America 


KOBEET    WHEATON.  27 

under  Rochambeau ;  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  a 
French  emigre,  was  born  in  America,  and  had  re- 
ceived from  her  parents  the  'harmonious  name  of 
Oneida.  She  had  three  grown-up  sons,  but  with  the 
vivacity  of  a  Frenchwoman  joined  in  all  their  amuse- 
ments, and  being  an  excellent  horsewoman,  always 
rode  out  with  them.  Robert,  who  was  extremely  fond 
of  this  exercise,  often  joined  these  riding  parties. 

After  leaving  the  Institution  of  M.  Barbe-Massin, 
which  he  did  on  passing  his  examination,  and  being 
admitted  to  the  Baccalaureat,  Robert  attended  lectures 
at  the  Sorbonne  and  at  the  College  de  France.  He 
frequently  spoke  of  them  in  his  letters  to  his  father, 
which  were  all  written  in  French,  and  from  which  we 
will  now  give  some  extracts. 

(Translated)  '  Paris,  July,  1845. 

'  All  the  lectures  at  the  Sorbonne  and  at  the  College 
de  France  are  closing  one  by  one,  as  all  the  professors 
feel  the  necessity  of  breathing  a  little  fresh  air.  M. 
Ozanam  terminated  his  lectures  on  Dante  by  a  rapid 
and  eloquent  sketch  of  the  influence  which  Dante 
exercised  on  Italian  literature,  an  influence  which  he 
of  course  considers  as  immense.  He  said  that  Pe- 
trarch owed  him  much,  though  reluctant  to  admit  it ; 
that  Ariosto  borrowed  whole  lines  of  his  in  his  own 
great  poem ;  and  that  Tasso  not  only  took  the  descrip- 
tion of  Hell  from  him,  but  also  his  admired  episode  of 
Sofronia  and  Olindo,  for  that,  without  the  Beatrice  of 
Dante,  he  could  have  had  no  conception  of  that 
Christian  virgin ;  and  finally,  that  after  the  bad  taste 
of  the  seventeenth  and  part  of  the  eighteenth  century, 


28 


MEMOIR    OF 


the  Italy  of  our  time  had  taken  Dante  for  her  guide. 
He  concluded  with  a  very  eloquent  passage,  in  which 
he  said,  that  when  a  country  still  produced  such  men 
as  Pellico,  Manzoni,  Grossi,  etc.,  no  one  had  any 
right  to  accuse  it  of  having  fallen  very  low !  As  Mr. 
O.  is  a  zealous  Catholic  and  a  devout  follower  of 
Dante,  it  is  not  astonishing  that  he  should  think  Italy 
less  degraded  than  she  really  is.  He  imagines  that  she 
is  supposed  to  have  declined  because  her  inhabitants 
are  still  attached  to  ancient  superstition  and  belief, 
while  he  sees  in  this  one  of  her  claims  to  the  respect 
and  admiration  of  the  world.  I  have  just  bought  his 
work  on  Dante  and  the  Philosophy  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  There  are  beautiful  things  in  it ;  I  am  sure 
you  would  read  it  with  pleasure.  It  is  sometimes 
deficient  in  clearness,  but  that  arises  from  the  nature 
of  the  subject  which  he  looks  at  from  a  Mediajval 
point  of  view.  It  has  been  translated  into  Italian  and 
German  several  times.  Why  do  you  not  write  some- 
thing on  Thiers'  History.?  The  subject  would  suit 
you.  Or  why  not  write  some  Etudes  on  the  History 
of  Florence  ?  It  would  be  a  preparation  for  your 
Complete  History. 

'  I  am  continuing  my  translation  of  Don  Carlos. 
What  do  you  think  the  best  way  to  learn  to  write  a 
language  ?  I  stand  in  great  need  'of  some  means  of 
learning  to  write  English.' 

'  Paris,  April  Sth,  1645. 

*  On  Thursday  M.  Michelet  recommenced  his  lec- 
tures, which  he  had  suspended  during  the  Easter 
vacation.     He  gave  us  an  interesting  one  on  Property 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  29 

in  France.  He  says  that  there  are  in  France  twenty 
million  proprietors  on  a  population  of  twenty-four 
millions,  while  in  England  there  are  but  thirty-two 
thousand  on  fourteen  millions.  What  a  prodigious 
difference  !  It  is  to  this  cause  that  he  attributes  the 
love  which  the  Frenchman  bears  his  countiy.  He 
says,  and  he  is  right,  that  we  never  see  them  leaving 
their  country  like  the  English,  or  emigrating  en  masse 
like  the  Germans.  "  He  is  wedded  to  the  earth," 
says  Michelet  in  his  singular  language.  He  told  us 
that  in  visiting  the  department  of  the  Arriege  last 
year,  he  saw  with  astonishment  what  the  peasants  there 
achieve  over  rebellious  nature.  The  high  ground  is 
covered'  with  bare  rocks,  which  they  pound  till  they 
are  reduced  to  powder,  then  descending  into  the 
valleys  they  contrive,  by  dint  of  labor,  to  bring  up  a 
little  earth  which  they  mix  with  this  powder,  and  thus 
compose  a  soil  on  which  they  can  begin  to  plant. 
"  This  is  greater,"  said  Michelet,  "  this  is  more  mar- 
vellous than  many  wonders  which  the  world  admires, 
while  this  remains  unknown.  The  bridge  of  the  Gard, 
constructed  by  the  Romans,  is  nothing  compared  to 
this."  It  seems  to  me  that  the  strength  of  France  lies 
in  this  infinite  subdivision  of  the  soil,  and  although 
the  English  regret  it  because  it  cuts  up  the  country 
and  offends  the  eye,  I  prefer  a  country  where  this  is 
the  case,  to  one  where  thirty-two  thousand  individuals 
hold  in  their  hands  and  for  their  own  profit  that  which 
God  made  for  all.  In  France,  when  you  pass  along 
the  road  and  see  those  little  patches  of  different  colors 
which  cover  the  ground,  you  have  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  each  of  those  patches  is  the  property 


30  MEMOIR    OF 

of  a  man,  who   from  that  very  fact  feels  himself  a 
man. 

'  M.  Quinct  still  continues  to  hold  forth.  He  has 
recently  given  us  two  very  remarkable  lectures  on 
Mahometanism.  He  admires  Mahomet,  sis  every  one 
must  who  considers  the  immense  empire,  at  once 
temporal  and  spiritual,  which  he  founded.  As  you 
may  suppose,  he  did  not  speak  of  the  Past  of  Ma- 
hometanism and  the  East,  without  speaking  of  its 
Future.  "  Can  the  East  regenerate  herself  ? "  he 
asks.  "  And  on  the  other  hand  who  can  carry  into 
the  East  the  principle  of  new  life  from  the  West  ? 
Will  the  Church  of  Rome  terminate  the  new  war 
between  the  Gospel  and  the  Koran  ?  How  can  we 
hope  that  the  clergy  will  do  in  our  day  what  it  could 
not  accomplish  during  the  religious  ardor  which  dis- 
tinguished the  Crusades  ?  "  ' 

•July,  1845. 

'  I  should  much  like  to  spend  six  weeks  or  two 
months  with  you  in  Berlin.  As  the  Cours  de  Droit  do 
not  open  until  November,  I  can  with  perfect  facility 
spend  the  above-named  time  with  you.  The  expense 
would  not  be  great,  and  the  advantage  would  be  im- 
mense. I  am  of  opinion  that  travelling  is  an  important 
part  of  a  young  man's  education.  In  a  short  journey 
one  acquires  more  ideas  than  in  a  year's  residence  in 
the  same  place.  I  have  just  been  reading  the  fourth 
volume  of  Thiers.  It  is  as  good,  perhaps  better,  than 
the  others.  I  suppose  the  English  will  not  be  very 
well  satisfied  with  his  account  of  the  rupture  of  the 
Peace  of   Amiens.     For   my  part,  I   think  Thiers  is 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  31 

hardly  to  be  accused  of  too  great  partiality.  He 
appears  to  me  to  treat  Napoleon  quite  severely  enough 
with  regard  to  the  affair  of  the  Duke  d'Enghien.  I 
have  finished  my  translation  of  Don  Carlos,  quite  a 
colossal  work,  forming  three  hundred  and  twenty-three 
pages  !  I  am  reading  Chesterfield's  Letters  ;  they  are 
witty  and  amusing,  but  not  very  edifying,  au  point  de 
vue  de  la  morale.  Write  soon,  dear  papa,  and  give  your 
sanction  to  my  projected  journey.  I  wish  so  much  to 
see  you  and  converse  with  you  before  the  winter 
commences. 

*  When  I  am  not  at  the  lectures  I  busy  myself  with 
the  History  of  Florence,  than  which  nothing  is  more 
attractive  to  me.  Materials  for  this  history  abound ;  all 
those  old  chronicles  which  relate  to  events  from  day  to 
day,  and  almost  from  hour  to  hour,  are  of  great  value. 
I  know  that  one  must  be  on  one's  guard,  for  some  of 
these  are  all  Ghibelline,  others  all  Guelph,  but  by 
confronting  them  and  making  allowance  for  the  party 
spirit  which  pervades  them,  one  may  get  at  the  truth. 
I  wish  very  much  that  you  would  devote  yourself  to 
this  history,  and  write  a  work,  which  I  am  sure  would 
be  successful. 

'  The  origin  of  Florence,  like  that  of  every  thing  else 
in  this  world,  is  rather  obscure,  but  from  the  little  I 
have  read  on  the  subject  at  the  Bibliotheque  du  Roi,  I 
suppose  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  prove  that  Florence 
was  an  Etruscan  city,  and  that  Sylla  established  his 
soldiers  there  to  reward  them  for  all  their  labors.  Many 
of  the  old  Florentine  authors  affirm  that  Sylla  himself 
founded  the  city.  Others  say  that  the  city  sprung  from 
Fiesole,  or  rather  that  Fiesole  itself  was  founded  by  a 


OK  MEMOIR   OF 

prince  of  the  name  of  Apolonius  immediately  after  the 
deluge.  These  authors  likewise  represent  this  Apolo- 
nius as  the  founder  of  the  princely  family  who  reigned 
in  Troy,  connecting  by  this  link  the  city  sung  by  Homer 
with  one  of  the  greatest  cities  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
These  are  fables,  doubtless,  but  even  fables  are  inter- 
esting when  they  relate  to  the  infancy  of  a  great  people. 
'  Among  the  really  interesting  things  on  this  subject 
I  have  found  at  the  Bibliothcque,  is  a  work  published 
during  the  last  century  by  Lami,  an  Italian.  It  is 
called  Lezione  cL'Antichitd  Toscane  e  particolarmente 
della  cittd  di  Firenze.  If  you  can  find  it  at  Berlin, 
pray  read  it.' 

In  August,  Robert  went  to  spend  some  weeks  in  the 
family  of  an  American  gentleman  at  Havre,  with 
whose  son  he  was  on  intimate  terms.  In  a  letter  written 
immediately  after  his  arrival,  he  says,  after  giving  a 
lively  and  amusing  sketch  of  some  of  his  fellow  pas- 
sengers : 

*  But  all  this,  I  suppose  you  think,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  Seine  and  its  beauties.  True,  but  how  can 
one  describe  the  beauties  of  nature  without  being  an 
artist  or  a  poet  ?  I  am  neither  the  one  or  the  other, 
still  the  sight  of  Nature  always  moves  me  deeply.  It 
is  difficult  to  imagine  any  thing  prettier  or  richer  than 
the  banks  of  the  Seine.  Now  you  see  high  hills, 
whose  sides  are  covered  with  woods  and  dotted  with 
houses,  now  large  pasture-grounds  which  must  resemble 
those  of  England.  After  passing  Quillebteuf,  the  river 
grows  gradually  wider,  and  the  slight  motion  you  feel 
in  the  vessel  tells  you  that  you  are  approaching  the 


ROBERT  WHEATON.  33 

ocean,    ^t  8  o'clock  in  the  evening  we  entered  the 
port  of  Havre  de  Grace. 

Ingonville,  August,  1845. 

*  My  dear  Father,  — 
'  I  arrived  here  on  the  13th,  and  was  most  kindly 
received.  Ingonville  is  what  may  be  called  a  sort  of 
village,  just  outside  the  gates  of  Havre,  and  delightfully 
situated  on  the  hill.  From  the  house  we  have  a  fine 
view  of  the  sea,  of  which  I  was  very  glad  to  catch  a 
glimpse  after  having  been  deprived  of  that  pleasure  so 
many  years.  It  reminds  me  of  Copenhagen  and  the 
happy  days  we  passed  there.  I  shall  remain  here  until 
the  end  of  the  month,  then  return  to  Paris,  and  proceed 
from  thence  to  Berlin.  ...  I  am  sorry  to  see  by  the 
papers  that  religion  is  likely  to  occasion  more  blood- 
shed in  Europe.  The  emeute  at  Leipzig  seems  to  me 
quite  a  serious  thing.  I  had  always  hoped  that  in  future 
there  would  be  but  one  kind  of  proselytism  —  persua- 
sion. In  what  light  is  this  new  Catholicism  (which  in 
fact  is  but  a  new  form  of  Protestantism)  viewed  in 
Prussia  ?  Marochetti  has  just  made  a  miserable  statue 
of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  the  king  is  foolish  enough 
to  have  it  placed  on  the  Place  du  Louvre,  where  no 
statue  but  that  of  Louis  XIV.  or  Napoleon  should  be 
erected.' 

'  Havre,  August,  1845. 

'  The  longer  I  am  here,  the  more  I  feel  how  wonder- 
ful is  the  sea !     Nothing  can  give  a  better  idea  of  im- 
mensity and  of  eternity.     There  is  something  very  sad, 
and  for  that  reason,  something  grand  and  beautiful  in 
3 


34  MEMOIR    OF 

beholding  it  every  day  bathing  the  same  shore,  now 
advancing  a  little  more,  now  a  little  less,  but  never 
overstepping  the  limits  which  God  has  set.  What  a 
dreadful  storm  was  that  of  Tuesday  !  I  returned  from 
,Trouville  about  an  hour  before  it  began.' 

The  storm  alluded  to  was  one  during  which  the 
daughter  of  Victor  Hugo  was  drowned. 

His  father  having  yielded  to  his  request  that  he 
might  spend  a  few  weeks  at  Berlin,  Robert  left  Paris 
for  that  city  early  in  the  autumn.  The  following 
letters  were  written  during  his  absence  : 

*  Frankfort,  Sept  9th,  1845. 

*As  the  diligence  docs  not  leave  for  Leipzig  until 
this  afternoon,  I  will  write  you  a  long  letter.  I  left 
Cologne  on  Sunday  by  the  steamboat  and  reached  Cob- 
lentz  at  five.  From  Cologne  to  Bonn,  the  country  is 
very  flat  and  not  in  the  least  attractive,  and  to  add  to 
jny  ennui,  there  were  none  but  Germans  on  board.  I 
was  reduced  to  doing  as  they  did,  viz.  :  to  smoke  and 
think,  if  indeed  they  do  think,  for  they  confide  their 
thoughts  to  no  one.  Fortunately,  at  Bonn  two  young 
Belgians  came  on  board,  and  what  was  even^tter  than 
the  Belgians,  the  Siebengebirg  and  the  Drachenfels 
came  in  sight.  From  that  moment  we  had  a  succes- 
sion of  wonders,  each  more  wonderful  than  the  last, 
but  which  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe,  and  yet  that 
part  of  the  Rhine  between  Cobientz  and  Mayence, 
which  I  saw  yesterday,  is  much  finer.  When  we  ar- 
rived at  Cobientz,  the  two  Belgians  and  I  went  to  see 
Stolzenfcls,  the  castle  repaired  by  the  King  of  Prussia, 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  35 

and  in  which  he  received  the  Queen  of  England. 
Unfortunately  it  was  too  late  for  us  to  see  the  apart- 
ments, but  we  were  able  to  enjoy  a  magnificent  view 
of  the  Rhine.  The  weather  must  have  been  very  bad 
to  make  Queen  Victoria  so  ill-humored.  She  met  with 
the  most  complete  failure  every  where  on  the  Rhine. 
She  gave  <£500  towards  the  "  Dombau  "  at  Cologne,  but 
not  long  ago  the  Council  assembled  to  propose  that  this 
sum,  which  they  considered  too  paltry  for  the  purpose, 
should  be  returned  to  Her  Majesty  to  be  distributed 
among  the  poor  in  Ireland !  But  while  they  were  delib- 
erating, the  police  entered  the  hall  and  put  an  end  to 
this  project.  The  other  day,  as  I  was  entering  Cologne, 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  the  queen,  who  entered 
the  railroad  station  as  I  left  it.  She  had  two  carriages 
with  two  horses  only,  and  was  preceded  by  two  soldiers 
on  horseback ;  not  a  creature  showed  itself  in  the  streets 
to  see  her  pass.  It  seems  that  the  authorities  here  did 
some  foolish  things.  Thus,  when  she  arrived  at  Bonn, 
it  was  raining  hard,  and  the  landing-place  was  covered 
with  mud,  yet  they  did  not  throw  down  a  carpet  or  even 
a  plank  for  her  to  step  on.     She  was  extremely  angry, 

I  hear Jenny  Lind  is  here,  and  the 

people  are  wild  about  her ;  unfortunately  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  hear  her.  The  newspapers  tell  wonders  of  her 
performances,  and  say  that  men's  minds  are  so  much 
occupied  with  her  that  if  you  ask  for  any  thing  in  a 
shop,  the  man  behind  the  counter  replies,  Jenny  Lind. 
At  the  table  d'hote,  on  board  the  boat,  I  talked  with  a 
German  who  said  that  from  my  accent  he  should  never 
have  known  I  was  not  a  "  born  German."  (Geborner 
Deutsche.)      And   then   he  added,    as   he  heard   me 


36  MEMOIR    OF 

speaking  French  with  the  Belgian  travellers,  I  must  be 
from  the  French  frontier.     I  explained  to  him  where  I 
did  come  from,  which  made  him  stare.     I  talked  about 
Beethoven   with    this    old    German,   who   went    into 
ecstasies.     If  my  "  pecuniary  resources,"  as  our  friend 
would  say,  would  admit,  I  should  go  and  spend  a  week 
or   two   at   Wiesbaden   or   Hamburg,  which    is   very 
fashionable  this  year,  but  the  said  resources  will  only 
take  me  to  Berlin.     I  shall  be  two  nights  in  the  post- 
wagen,  going  to  Leipzig  ;  that  will  be  the  most  fatiguing 
part  of  my  journey,  for  I  have  now  come  two  hundred 
leagues  without  feeling  more  fatigued  than  if  I  had 
only  been  as  far  as  Versailles.     This  is  admirable  !     I 
shall  not  see  Lord  Westmoreland,  in  Berlin,  for  I  saw 
his  name  on  the  Fremdenlisle  (list  of  strangers).     I 
have  met  but  two  or  three  Frenchmen  since  I  left  Paris. 
It  is  surprising   how  little  they  travel.     Victor  Hugo 
says  in  his  Travels  on  the  Rhine,  that  in  Germany  the 
napkins  are  sheets,  and  the   sheets  napkins.      He  is 
right ;    every  morning   I  find   my  bedclothes  on  the 
floor.     You  must  either  freeze  under  a  sheet  or  melt 
under  a  feather-bed.     I  have  just  dined  with  the  usual 
German  accompaniment  of  music.     The  public  mind 
here  is  engrossed  with  religious  questions ;  at  the  book- 
sellers you  see  nothing  but  works  on  these  subjects, 
and  you  cannot  take  up  a  newspaper  without  seeing  that 
there  have  been  disturbances  somewhere.     Germany 
is  very  much  agitated.     God  knows  what  it  will  lead 
to.      The  portraits  of  Ronge,  the  head  of   the   new 
religious  party,  are  to  be  seen  every  where.     I  shall 
read  some  of  these  works  in  Berlin,  and  perhaps  I  shall 
be  able  to  understand  what  it  is  all  about.' 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  37 

'  Berlin,  Sept.  12th,  1845. 

'  My  dear  A , 

'  I  have  just  arrived,  and  hasten  to  write  you  not  only 
to  inform  you  of  my  arrival,  but  likewise  to  ask  your 
pardon  for  not  having  written  to  you  on  your  birthday. 
My  journey  so  completely  upset  all  my  ideas  of  time, 
that  I  allowed  the  8th  to  pass  without  thinking  of  it, 
and  when  I  wrote  you  from  Frankfort  I  was,  like  all 
travellers,  too  much  occupied  with  myself  to  think 
much  of  others.  My  journey  is  ended,  and  I  can  now 
wish  you  for  your  fete,  what  I  wish  you  all  the  year  — 
all  that  you  can  desire  of  health  and  happiness.  I 
frankly  confess  that  I  have  been  to  blame,  and  I  hope 
that  my  frankness  will  induce  you  to  forgive  me.  It 
has  not  been  in  my  power  this  year,  as  heretofore,  to 
offer  you  in  person  some  slight  token  of  my  affection, 
but  fortunately  you  do  not  require  that  to  believe  in  it. 
The  thought  that  I  had  not  written  you  has  haunted 
me  from  the  time  I  left  Frankfort  till  I  arrived  here.  I 
found  papa  well.  Our  faithful  Stine  [a  Danish  servant, 
who  had  lived  many  years  in  the  family]  was  surprised 
and  delighted  to  see  me.  She  says  she  should  not 
have  known  me  if  she  had  met  me  on  the  street.  I 
sleep  on  the  same  bed  I  had  seven  years  ago.  A  sad 
recollection,  for  the  other  bed  is  broken  like  him  who 
slept  on  it.  "  If  I  could  but  have  seen  poor  Edward 
come  back  too ! "  said  Stine.  Those  words,  when 
every  thing  is  so  soon  forgotten,  touched  me.  But  I 
am  writing  of  what  is  sad,  and  yet  I  know  not  how  to 
do  otherwise.  Every  thing  here  speaks  of  a  time 
which  is  no  more,  and  renews  those  regrets  which  time 
can  but  increase.     It  is  a  bad  habit  we  have  fallen  into 


WJ  MEMOIR    OF 

never  to  speak  of  him  wc  have  lost.  I  see  not  why  a 
departed  friend  should  be  banished  from  the  daily  con- 
versation of  those  who  remain  behind 

I  have  seen  no  one  yet,  but  shall  go  to  the  F.'s  this 
evening.  Berlin  produced  a  singular  impression  on 
me ;  the  streets  arc  too  wide  and  empty,  and  you 
enter  the  city  under  such  unfavorable  auspices,  sand 
and  pine-trees  being  the  only  intimations  you  have  that 
you  are  approaching  a  large  capital.  I  am  only  spesdc- 
ing  of  first  impressions.  I  have  no  time  to  write  more, 
as  1  wish  my  letter  to  leave  to-day  that  you  may  not 
be  anxious.' 

In  a  letter  dated  Sept,  22,  he  says  : 

'  The  admiration  which  for  some  time  was  felt  for 
the  king  has  wonderfully  diminished.  Nothing  is  now 
said  of  a  Constitution.  It  is  thought  that  he  has  good 
intentions,  but  that  his  brothers  will  not  hear  of  it.  He 
has  become  very  stout,  and  looks  carcwoni  and  fatigued, 
and  his  appearance  in  public  excites  little  enthusiasm. 
Madame  Franchet  and  I  discuss  the  king  constantly. 
She  always  defends  him,  which  makes  me  smile,  and  I 
am  called  ires  moqueur.  She  has  told  me  a  pretty 
anecdote  of  him.  A  deputy  from  the  Rhenish 
provinces  was  very  anxious  about  his  wife,  whom  he 
knew  to  be  dangerously  ill.  The  king  saw  him  one 
day,  and  asked  after  her;  the  deputy  expressed  the 
anxiety  he  felt.  The  king,  meeting  him  again  at 
dinner,  said  :  "  I  can  give  you  news  of  your  wife  ;  she 
is  much  better."  The  telegraph  being  in  the  hands  of 
government,  the  king  had  availed  himself  of  his 
privilege  to  make  the  necessary  inquiries.' 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  39 

In  another  letter  Robert  says :  '  I  am  anxious  to 
embrace  you  all  again.  Berlin  is  not  like  that  famous 
river  of  mythology ;  it  does  not  cause  one  to  forget. 
I  find,  indeed,  that  it  reminds  me  of  many  things.' 

'Dresden,  Oct.  5th,  1845. 

.  .  .  .  '  How  strange  is  human  destiny !  Last 
year  at  this  time  I  should  scarcely  have  believed  that 
I  should  pass  my  next  birthday  in  Dresden,  and  God 
only  knows  where  I  shall  pass  my  twentieth.  When 
that  time  comes,  a  philosopher  would  say  the  best  and 
happiest  part  of  my  life  will  have  gone.  Such  is  the 
general  opinion.  Not  mine,  however,  for  if  I  believed 
it,  I  should  not  have  a  very  high  estimate  of  human 
happiness.' 

'  Berlin,  Oct.  10th. 

'  On  my  return  from  Dresden,  I  found  your  two 
letters,  dear  A.,  and  thank  you  for  remembering  my 
birthday.  We  were  absent  a  week,  and  while  we 
were  gone  the  Duke  of  Cambridge  came,  and  Lord 
Westmoreland,  (the  British  Minister,)  gave  him  a  ball, 
which  I  lost.  So  much  for  society,  now  for  politics. 
Every  one  here  is  talking  of  the  king's  reply  to  the 
municipality  of  Berlin,  which  some  months  since  made 
him  an  address  on  the  subject  of  Pietism.  The  king 
sent  for  them,  and  told  them  that  it  did  not  concern 
them,  as  he  alone  had  any  thing  to  say  about  religious 
matters.  The  municipality  wished  to  reply  imme- 
diately, but  the  king  spoke  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
without  giving  them  time  to  utter  a  word,  and  then 
saying :    "  1   dismiss   you   graciously,"    {Ich   enllasse 


40  MEMOIR   OF 

Euch  in  gnaden^)  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the 
apartment.  The  good  men  stood  a  moment  in  amaze- 
ment, and  then,  collecting  themselves,  left  the  palace 
and  adjourned  to  the  town-house,  where  they  signed  a 
protestation.  It  was  said  before  the  revolution  of 
1830,  that  the  French  were  dancing  on  a  volcano ; 
the  same  might  be  said  of  the  Germans.     Saxony  is 

greatly  agitated,  and  Leipzig,  as  says,   is   the 

first  German  town  that  has  insulted  an  hereditary 
prince.  You  remember  that  in  August,  Prince  John 
of  Saxony  passed  through  Leipzig,  and  that  the  mob 
threw  stones  at  his  carriage.  He  escaped  by  a  mira- 
cle, for  in  turning  a  corner,  his  carriage  came  ne«ur 
being  upset,  and  had  that  happened,  he  would  un- 
doubtedly have  been  massacred.  Notwithstanding  so 
recent  an  example,  the  King  of  Prussia  continues  his 
old  system.  Kings  live  and  do  not  learn.  I  begin 
to  think  of  my  return,  notwithstanding  the  flattering 
manner  in  which  I  am  received  here.  I  know  how 
much  such  politeness  is  worth.  Au  resle,  there  is  no 
harm  in  my  becoming  a  little  accustomed  to  society, 
and  in  learning  that  after  all  men  are  very  much 
alike  every  where.  Only  very  superior  minds  are  dis- 
similar from  others.  Papa  says  I  am  a  very  good 
judge  of  men.  I  had  rather  know  myself  to  be 
inferior  to  the  men  with  whom  I  meet,  than  to  feel 
myself  superior.  There  is  to  me  something  humiliat- 
ing in  the  feeling,  for  I  have  not  self-love  enough  not 
to  suppose  that  a  man  of  mature  age  must  be  peu  de 
chose,  if  I  am  superior  to  him. 

*  We  have  been  to  the  theatre  several  times  since 
I   last  wrote.     On   Saturday   they   gave   Othello,   an 


ROBERT    "WHEATON.  41 

admirable    translation   of  Shakspcare ;  not  very  well 

played,   with   the   exception   of    lago.     On    Monday, 

.Wilhelm  Tell,  most  admirably  got  up.     Last  night  we 

saw  Faust.     Fraulein  von  Hagn's  acting  in  the  prison 

scene  was  very  effective.     Tell  M I  was  delighted 

with  the  scene  where  Faust,  on  the  point  of  drinking 
the  poison,  is  stopped  by  the  sound  of  voices  singing 
(to  Prince  Radziwill's  beautiful  music)  Christ  ist 
erstanden !  The  words  of  Faust,  "  The  tear  flows, 
earth  holds  me  again,"  produce  the  most  touching 
effect.     After  hearing  such  sublime  things,  it  was  hard 

to  go  and  finish  the  evening  at  Madame ,  listening 

to  all  the  commonplaces  which  society  demands.  I 
do  not  know  whether  I  am  misanthropical  or  not,  but 
society  seems  to  me  a  wretched  thing. 

'  I  went  yesterday  to  the  Sing  Academic  with  Pro- 
fessor Lichtenstein.  To-morrow  I  am  going  once 
more  to  hear  his  daughter  play,  and  some  day  I  shall 
go  to  hear  Litoff,  a  distinguished  pianist.  I  long  to 
put  my  hands  on  a  piano,  for  I  feel  now  like  a  soul 
without  a  body.' 

This  visit  to  Berlin  was  of  use  to  Robert,  because 
it  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  comparing  France  and 
Germany,  and,  as  has  been  happily  said,  '  To  compare 
is  to  judge.'  He  was  much  struck  by  the  strong  feeling 
of  caste  which  exists  every  where  in  Germany,  and 
by  the  absence  of  all  freedom  of  political  discussion. 
He  returned  to  France  more  prepossessed  than  ever 
in  favor  of  a  country  of  which  he  said,  in  a  letter 
written  to  his  father  as  early  as  1843,  '  Liberty  of 
thought    in    politics,    of    belief    in    religion,    and    of 


43  MEMOIR    OF 

action  in  both,  are  enjoyed  here  in  the  highest  de- 
gree.' 

Ahhough  in  his  habits,  manners,  and  tastes,  he 
might  be  said  to  be  essentially  aristocratic,  in  the 
better  sense  of  that  word,  he  loved  that  equality  which 
is  so  remarkable  a  feature  in  the  social  system  of 
France,  and  expressed  the  strongest  aversion  to  all 
institutions  and  customs,  that  have  a  tendency  to 
encourage  any  distinctions  but  those  which  are  the 
natural  result  of  talent  and  merit.  In  a  letter  written 
after  he  came  to  this  country,  he  says :  '  I  have 
always  detested  aristocracies  as  such.  This  is  a  point 
on  which  my  ideas  have  never  varied  since  I  first 
began  to  think.  There  exists  no  inequality  between 
men,  but  that  of  intellect  and  education.  That  of 
manner  founded  on  social  conventions  is  quite  ridicu- 
lous. I  know  but  one  kind  of  politeness,  which  has 
been  nowhere  better  defined  than  in  the  Gospel :  "  Do 
unto  others  as  you  would  have  them  do  unto  you." 
This  confession  of  faith  resembles  the  programme  of 
a  minister  at  the  opening  of  a  session.  Let  us  hope 
it  is  more  sincere  ! ' 

Such  could  scarcely  have  been  his  feelings  had  he 
grown  up  in  Germany,  and  in  this,  as  in  all  other 
respects,  his  parents  had  no  reason  to  regr*  having 
given  the  preference  to  a  French  over  a  German 
education.  Of  all  the  countries  of  Europe,  Franco 
and  Italy  were  those  in  whose  prosperity  and  progress 
he  took  the  warmest  interest,  as  will  be  remembered 
by  those  persons  who  were  in  the  habit  of  conversing 
witk  him  on  European  politics.  His  views  on  all 
isubjects  connected  with  social  or  political  life  resem* 


ROBERT   WnEATON.  43 

bled  those  of  a  much  older  person,  they  were  at  once 
so  moderate  and  so  liberal.  He  learnt  Italian  with 
great  ease,  and  was  a  warm  admirer  of  Dante.  The 
melody  of  smooth  versification  had  no  great  charm 
for  him,  as  is  often  the  case  with  those  persons  who 
are  most  accessible  to  the  influence  of  musical  har- 
mony; he  only  enjoyed  those  poets  whose  thoughts 
were  lofty  and  deep-felt  as  those  of  the  great  Floren- 
tine. Still  he  fully  appreciated  the  beauties  of  the 
Italian  language,  its  wonderful  combination  of  sweet- 
ness and  energy.  He  often  speculated  on  the  future 
destinies  of  Italy,  and  delighted  to  meet  an  intelligent 
Italian  with  whom  he  could  talk  of  them.  Several  of 
the  articles  he  wrote  were  on  episodes  of  Italian 
history,  and  among  the  literary  labors  he  had  planned 
for  himself,  one  or  two  of  the  most  important  were 
connected  with  Italian  literature. 

It  was  in  the  Institution  of  M.  Barbe-Massin  that 
Robert  first  formed  an  acquaintance  with  two  young 
men,  with  whom  so  much  of  his  time  in  Paris  was 
passed,  that  it  is  necessary  to  say  something  of  them. 
M.  Anatole  de  M.,  the  elder  of  the  three,  was  the  only 
son  of  a  lawyer,  and  was  destined  by  his  father  for 
the  bar,  but  his  tastes  leading  him  to  prefer  a  literary 
life,  his  father  did  not  insist  upon  his  following  the 
profession.  Extremely  well  read  in  French  literature 
and  in  the  histoiy  of  art,  even  when  Robert  first  knew 
him,  they  could  not  but  derive  much  pleasure  from 
each  others'  conversation.  M.  Charles  H.,  the  only 
son  of  a  widowed  mother,  also  well  versed  in  the  best 
French  authors,  and  eager  for  information  on  all  sub- 
jects, had   as   enthusiastic   a  fondness   for   music   as 


44  MEMOIR    OF 

Robert  himself,  which  naturally  drew  them  together. 
Every  evening  on  his  way  home  to  a  six  o'clock 
dinner,  Robert  joined  them,  and  thoy  walked  along 
together  talking  of  the  books  they  were  reading,  stop- 
ping occasionally  to  look  at  the  prints  with  which  the 
print-shops  on  the  Boulevards  are  crowded,  or  discus- 
sing the  last  Italian  opera  they  had  heard.  They 
subsequently  attended  the  lectures  at  the  Sorbonne 
together,  frequently  went  together  to  hear  the  sermons 
of  the  celebrated  Dominican,  Pere  Lacordaire,  during 
Advent,  or  during  Lent  those  of  the  eloquent  and 
persuasive  Abbe  de  Ravignan ;  they  spent  mornings 
at  the  Louvre,  and  evenings  at  the  Concerts  du  Con- 
servatoire ;  they  walked,  read,  and  talked  together. 
In  one  word,  they  were  inseparable.  Their  sources 
of  interest  were  so  numerous  and  varied,  and  Paris 
offers  such  a  constant  succession  of  objects  to  stimu- 
late, and  quicken  the  intellect,  that  if  they  passed  a 
day  or  two  without  meeting,  they  wrote  to  each  other. 
The  subjects  of  these  letters  are  various,  —  religion, 
philosophy,  literature,  music,  painting,  all  have  a  place 
in  them.  Politics  alone,  in  which  Robert  took  so 
strong  an  interest,  but  to  which  his  two  friends  were 
indifferent,  are  seldom  mentioned.  A  few  extracts 
from  some  letters  written  by  them  during  Robert's 
absence  in  1844-45,  although  the  grace  and  charm 
of  them  must  be  lost  in  a  translation,  will  give  an 
idea  of  the  pursuits  and  studies  they  enjoyed  in 
common. 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  45 

'St.  Quentin,  Sept.  1845. 

.  .  .  .  '  They  have  a  splendid  Museum  in  this 
place,  of  which  half  the  people  here  know  nothing, 
as  you  may  suppose.  One  man  supplied  it,  I  mean 
Latour,  the  king  of  Pastel  painters,  as  Eosalba  was 
their  queen.  All  that  is  not  by  him,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  beggar  of  Callot's  and  some  other  little 
pictures,  is  not  worth  looking  at.  There  are  nearly 
one  hundred  works  of  his,  pastels,  oil  paintings,  (these 
are  curious  but  inferior  to  the  others,)  sketches,  and 
studies  of  heads,  from  which  he  afterwards  painted 
portraits.  If  all  these  were  in  a  room  at  the  Louvre, 
it  would  be  one  of  the  finest  in  the  Musee  des  Dessins, 
and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  for  you  know  what  the 
Musee  des  Dessins  is !  To  know  Latour,  you  must 
come  here,  it  is  only  here  you  can  study  him.  The 
Louvre  has  but  three  of  his  works;  they  are  chefs 
d'ceuvre,  it  is  true,  but  here  there  are  as  many  as  twenty 
equally  fine.  In  Germany  there  is  a  collection  of  Ro- 
salba's  of  the  same  sort,  and  she  is  the  only  pastel 
painter  who  can  be  compared  to  Latour,  and  who  is 
perhaps  superior  to  him,  though  not  in  truth  and  life. 
For  grace  and  coloring  she  is  a  true  Venetian !  I  believe 
that  at  Dresden  there  are  many  portraits  by  Rosalba ; 
if  you  go  there  you  will  see  them.  The  Louvre  has 
but  four  pastels  by  this  artist,  (poor  Louvre  !)  but  they 
are  very  fine.  Dresden  is  the  place  one  must  visit  to 
see  Rosalba,  as  St.  Quentin  is  to  see  Latour.  These 
are  the  capitals  of  their  kingdoms. 

.  .  .  .  '  I  saw  yesterday  the  engraving  of  the 
large  fresco  of  the  Last  Judgment,  which  Cornelius 
painted  or  caused  to  be  painted,  (as  he  designed  it. 


48  MEMOIR    OF 

it  is  all  one,)  in  the  Church  of  St.  Louis,  at  Munich. 
I  am  sorry  your  journey  does  not  take  you  in  that 
direction,  90  that  you  might  see  it.  But  you  will  see 
at  Berlin  his  Christ  delivering  the  Just  from  Hell, 
and  Kaulback's  "Battle  of  the  Huns."  When  you 
are  there  I  shall  not  excuse  you ;  you  must  tell  me 
about  all  the  pictures  and  statues  you  see.  1  shall  not 
describe  Cornelius'  picture  to  you ;  it  would  take  too 
long  and  be  difficult  to  understand ;  but  we  will  exam- 
ine the  engraving  together  and  then  talk  about  it. 

.  .  .  .  *  1  congratulate  you  upon  having  seen 
the  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds,  by  Philippe  de 
Champagne.  As  for  me,  with  the  best  will  in  the 
world,  I  could  not.  I  recollect  having  discovered  a 
little  red  which  must  belong  to  the  traditional  mantle 
of  Mary,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  picture  a  little 
yellowish  white,  which  I  suppose  must  be  the  swad- 
dling-clothes of  the  infant,  and  that  is  all.  Why  in 
the  world  do  they  light  tapers  in  broad  daylight  before 
the  picture  of  Philippe  de  Champagne  ?  Is  it  to 
smoke  it .''  But  since  you  have  seen  it,  and  think  it 
fine,  I  am  satisfied;  it  will  reconcile  you  to  that  old 
painter,  who,  simple  and  severe  as  he  is,  and  1  may 
say  a  Jansenist  in  painting  as  he  was  at  heart,  is  none 
the  less  an  immortal  master ! 

*  An  old  miniature  painter,  named  Vincent,  died  at 
Glichy  the  other  day.  He  had  not  painted  for  a  great 
while,  and  although  not  in  absolute  poverty,  his  means 
were  scanty  and  his  situation  sad  for  one  who  had 
seen  bettor  days.  The  little  he  had  was  sold,  and 
my  uncle  bought  his  table,  filled  with  his  brushes, 
colors,  etc.,  and  an  enormous  portfolio  full  of  cngrav- 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  47 

ings  of  every  kind.  We  have  found  a  great  many 
drawings  of  the  old  man's ;  studies,  sketches,  some 
unfinished  portraits  which  are  very  good,  and  a  great 
many  old  caricatures,  among  which  is  a  very  singular 
one.  My  father  and  uncle  both  remember  having 
seen  it  before,  and  say  it  made  quite  a  sensation  when 
it  appeared  in  1810  or  1812.  It  is  a  caricature  of  the 
Emperor,  made  by  the  Royalist  party.  His  hat  is 
the  eagle;  his  head  is  composed  of  dead  bodies;  the 
seams  of  his  coat  are  rivers,  the  Elbe,  the  Rhine,  etc. 
On  his  breast  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  is  rep- 
resented by  a  large  spider,  whose  web  extends  over  the 
coat  until  it  reaches  these  rivers.  Notwithstanding  all 
these  ignoble  accessories,  the  head  is  fine  and  powerful. 
It  is  a  curious  thing  now  —  and  that  is  what  time 
makes  of  almost  every  thing. 

.  .  .  .  '  I  am  living  like  a  hermit  at  present. 
You  are  all  out  of  town,  my  father  is  travelling,  and  I 
am  alone.  From  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  draw,  or 
I  go  to  the  Louvre ;  in  the  evening  I  read,  or  walk  out 
a  little  to  take  the  air.  Although  I  am  constantly 
occupied,  and  never  feel  a  moment's  ennui,  I  am 
melancholy  enough,  but  this  is  nothing  new.  For  some 
time  past,  whenever  I  have  been  alone,  and  not  distrait 
by  the  conversation  of  those  I  love,  I  become  sad. 
The  evening  before  C.  went  away,  I  felt  so  overcome, 
that  on  leaving  him  I  walked  for  some  time,  although 
it  was  late,  in  order  to  recover  myself.  While  walk- 
ing, I  composed  a  letter,  which  would  have  been  the 
longest  you  ever  read  had  I  written  it,  but  as  it  was  a 
very  sad  one,  it  was  better  I  did  not.  There  is  so 
much  in  life  that  is  sad,  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to 


48  MEMOIR   OF 

seek  for  causes  of  melancholy ;  to  be  sure  one  cannot 
always  help  doing  so.  But,  religiously  speaking,  I  am 
in  a  singular  state.  Possibly  doubt  and  uncertainty 
may  one  day  lead  me  to  dogmatism,  but  it  will  be  a 
strange  road.  There  are  but  three  things  now  of 
which  I  feel  certain :  the  existence  of  God ;  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul,  or  a  succession  of  lives  in  which 
we  shall  expiate  the  faults  we  have  committed,  and  at 
length  attain  sovereign  happiness ;  and  lastly,  what  will 
seem  very  singular  to  you  —  the  Trinity.  There  is 
something  magnificent,  something  sublime  in  that 
idea,  but  it  is  a  dogma  more  essentially  metaphysical 
and  philosophical  than  religious,  addressing  itself  more 
to  the  mind  than  to  the  heart,  and  does  not  lead  to 
prayer.  In  vain  I  read  Pascal,  and  I  constantly  read 
him ;  I  think  him  sublime,  but  he  does  not  convince 
me.  It  is  strange  that  a  mind,  which,  compared  to 
these  great  minds,  is  as  nothing,  can  find  in  its  own 
thoughts  something  different  from  them,  and  perhaps 
even  (I  only  say  perhaps)  be  right  in  doing  so!  .  .  . 
For  a  long  time  our  churches  have  only  been  works  of 
art  to  me.  Since  I  have  seen  them  en  deshabille  and 
at  all  hours,  I  have  been  very  much  disenchanted.  To 
see  those  old  women  who  think  themselves  certain  of 
reaching  heaven,  or  rather  of  earning  a  few  sous 
by  mumbling  their  prayers,  to  see  the  churches 
cleaned  out  as  our  rooms  are  every  rhorning,  and  the 
priests  putting  on  their  robes,  and  their  pious  looks  in 
the  sacristy,  produces  a  strange  effect  and  discredits 
the  sanctuary,  I  assure  you.  But  this  is  no  subject  for 
bad  jesting,  and  were  I  to  read  over  this  letter,  I  should 


ROBERT    WIIEATON.  49 

probably  tear  it  as  I  generally  do  when  I  allow  my  pen 

too  much  liberty 

Anatole.' 

*  My  dear  R , 

'  I  begin  to  write  you,  but  shall  I  send  this  letter,  or 
shall  I  destroy  it  as  I  have  done  so  many  others  ? 
Every  time  I  write  a  letter,  two  thoughts  come  into  my 
mijid ;  the  fii*st  is,  there  are  things  one  can  write, 
though  one  cannot  say  them,  and  that  tempts  me  to 
begin ;  the  other,  that  a  letter  rarely  finds  the  one  to 
whom  it  is  addressed  in  the  same  frame  of  mind,  under 
the  influence  of  the  same  emotions,  as  he  who  wrote  it, 
and  that  checks  my  inclinations 

'  I  have  just  seen  A,,  who  tells  me  he  is  to  pass  the 
evening  at  your  house,  and  I  feel  as  though  by  writing 
I  should  have  passed  a  part  of  it  with  you.  When  I 
reached  home  last  Saturday  evening,  I  fell  to  thinking  of 
what  has  often  before  been  the  subject  of  my  thoughts, 
but  particularly  on  that  evening  when  your  mother, 
your  sisters,  you  and  I  were  taking  tea  around  the  oval 
table.  There  was  something  delightful  in  the  simplicity 
of  that  little  family  circle,  composed  of  persons  differ- 
ing so  much  in  taste  and  character,  at  a  ball  the  day 
before,  and  now  so  quiet,  and  I,  a  stranger,  in  the 
midst.  There  is  in  the  society  of  some  women  some- 
thing so  agreeable,  so  refined,  and  in  such  good  taste, 
that  it  is  refreshing  to  the  soul,  and  I  feel  all  the  com- 
fort and  happiness  you  must  derive  from  it.  But  at 
that  very  moment  I  thought  of  your  departure  for  Ber- 
lin, and  of  what  is  still  farther  off,  and  this  idea,  which 
1  tried  to  avert,  recurred  to  me  as  soon  as  I  was  alone. 
4 


OV  MEMOIR   OF 

I  said :  Robert  and  his  family  will  leave  us  in  a  few 
months;  we  are  such  blind  creatures  that  we  shall 
separate  as  though  it  was  only  for  two  or  throe  months, 
and  it  may  be  for  many  years,  perhaps  even  for  life, — 
it  is  true  that  life  is  short !  .  .  .  .  Continuing  my 
reverie,  I  thought  that  I  might  again  meet  you  in  ten 
or  fifteen  years.  How  many  events  of  every  kind  will 
have  agitated  us ;  how  much  we  shall  bo  changed !  If 
in  ten  years  we  were  again  seated  around  that  little 
table,  what  changes  will  have  taken  place  !  Yet,  after 
you  are  all  gone,  I  shall  ever  see  you  as  you  now  are, 
with  the  same  features,  the  same  voice,  the  same  hair ! 
But  in  ten  years,  how  many  of  us  will  be  left,  and  I, 
where  shall  I  be  ?  God  only  knows.  But  I  can  write 
no  more,  and  I  assure  you  it  requires  an  effort  not  to 
tear  this  letter.    Do  not  read  it  twice. 

*  Charles.* 

In  1846  Mr.  Wheaton  was  recalled  by  the  adminis- 
tration of  Mr.  Polk.  He  remained  in  Berlin  till  the 
month  of  August  of  that  year,  to  receive  his  successor 
and  present  him  at  court.  Robert  remained  in  Paris, 
where,  in  company  with  his  two  friends,  he  was  attend- 
ing the  law  lectures.  He  there  commenced  keeping 
a  Journal,  some  extracts  of  which  will  show  the  cur- 
rent of  his  thoughts  and  feelings  at  that  time. 

[JotTRMAI.,    1846.] 

On  the  first  page  he  says :  '  I  can  conceive  nothing 
more  interesting  than,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  to  open 
a  note-book  and  see  what  were  our  thoughts  at  the 
period  at  which  it  was  written ;  to  see  whether  we  have 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  51 

remained  the  same,  whether  we  have  made  any  pro- 
gress, or  whether — which  would  be  a  painful  thing  — 
we  had  grown  worse.  I  hope  that  my  good  resolution 
of  keeping  a  diary  will  remain  unshaken,  and  that 
when  in  years  from  now  I  look  back  on  the  strange, 
fanciful  thoughts  of  a  young  man  of  twenty,  I  may 
not  have  to  say  that  they  are  better  than  those  of  the 

following  years Read  some  of 

Byron's  letters.  I  am  more  than  ever  an  admirer  of 
this  astonishing  genius.  He  certainly  had  his  weak- 
nesses, greater  than  those  of  other  distinguished  men, 
but  what  surprising  facility  !  I  am  disposed  to  compare 
Byron  with  Rossini  —  both  powerful  and  so  touching, 
when  they  please,  and  yet  both  so  full  of  mockery. 
They  both  seem  to  throw  away  their  treasures  with 
the  same  prodigality.  I  could  scarcely  justify  the 
levity  with  which  Byron  speaks  in  his  correspondence 
of  those  sublime  subjects  on  which  he  has  written 
some  of  his  most  admirable  poetry,  if  I  were  not  fully 
convinced  that  this  levity  was  affected  in  order  to  rid 
himself  of  the  insupportable  cant  of  those  who,  when 
certain  subjects  are  mentioned  in  their  presence,  put  on 
what  the  French  call  une  figure  de  circonstance,  and 
affect  an  enthusiasm  they  are  far  from  feeling.' 

This  passage  is  strikingly  characteristic.  There  was 
nothing  so  offensive  to  Robert's  nature,  principles  and 
taste,  as  any  species  of  insincerity,  and  an  affectation 
of  feeling,  of  admiration  or  of  enthusiasm  was  so  dis- 
tasteful to  him,  that  it  immediately  checked  all  similar 
expressions  on  his  part,  and  caused  him  to  retire  within 
himself,  as  it  were,  and  draw  over  his  really  deep  and 
warm   feelings  an  impenetrable  veil  of  coldness  and 


99  MEMOIR    OF 

reserve.  With  his  strong  love  of  truth,  in  every  shape, 
he  was  always  gentle  in  the  expression  of  it,  never  in- 
truding his  opinion,  and  seldom  expressing  his  disap- 
probation  except  by  silence. 

'June  10th.  —  Got  up  at  seven.  Translated  a  few 
words  of  Thierry.  I  have  some  idea  of  translating 
and  trying  to  publish  his  Dit  Annees  d'' Etudes  Hislori- 
ques.  It  would  be  $i  good  exercise  in  English,  and 
might  also  be  useful  as  a  Jirst  work.  I  do  not  feel  as 
yet  the  power  to  create.  It  will  come,  I  hope.  I  must 
first  acquire  the  necessary  facility  in  writing.  It  will 
be  easy  after  that  to  find  an  interesting  subject.  If  I 
ever  distinguish  myself,  it  will  probably  bo  in  this  line. 
History  will  be  my  forte,  if  I  ever  have  any.  Thi^ 
desire  of  becoming  known,  and  not  dying  without  leav- 
ing a  name,  is  it  the  ambition  of  a  small  mind,  or  the 
proper  feeling  of  a  mind  destined  to  be  distinguished  ? 
Alas!  I  do  not  feel  the  courage  to  execute  what  my 
mind  would  willingly  design. 

•  June  13th.  —  Bought  "  Burke  on  the  Sublime." 
Read  the  Preface  and  the  Introduction.  He  says : 
"  Whatever  turns  the  soul  inward  on  itself  tends  to 
concentrate  its  forces  and  to  fit  it  for  greater  and 
stronger  flights  of  science."  How  very  true  this  is ! 
In  these  few  words  I  find  a  complete  refutation  of  those 
who  deny  the  use  of  philosophical  inquiries.  The 
man  of  the  world  does  not  study  philosophy,  merely  for 
the  satisfaction  of  resolving  with  more  or  less  accuracy 
those  problems  which  have  been  discu.ssed  since  tho 
beginning  of  the  world ;  he  studies  philosophy  to 
strengthen  his  soul  and  to  give  it  the  necessary  power 
to  attain  the  highest  objects  of  our  destiny.     Philo- 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  53 

sophical  studies  have  rather  the  same  effect  on  the  soul 
as  mathematics  on  the  judgment.  Therefore  no  edu- 
cation can  be  considered  as  complete  without  these  two 
important  branches  being  sufficiently  attended  to. 

'June  15th.  —  Went  to  Ozanam's  Cours.  He  lec- 
tured on  Alfred.  Very  interesting,  as  usual.  Read  a 
letter  just  published  of  M.  de  Maistre  to  the  Marquise 
de  C,  on  the  death  of  her  son.  He  of  course  takes 
this  occasion  to  express  his  horror  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution. It  is  very  natural  that  he  should  feel  thus.  I 
can  well  understand  that  the  aristocracy  who  had  so 
much  to  suffer  from  this  Revolution  should  have  looked 
upon  it  as  something  approaching  a  general  chaos ;  but 
that  my  countrymen  should  look  with  such  horror  on  a 
Revolution  which,  whatever  may  have  been  the  ex- 
cesses committed  at  the  time,  was  nevertheless  the 
signal  for  a  general  regeneration  throughout  Europe,  is 
a  thing  that  can,  I  think,  only  be  accounted  for  when 
wc  reflect  that  we  have  inherited  many  of  the  aristo- 
cratic notions  of  our  ancestors.  It  seems  to  me  that 
an  American  ought  always  to  sympathize  with  the 
noble  and  generous  feelings  which  gave  rise  to  this 
memorable  Revolution.  He  must  of  course  turn  away 
with  horror  from  the  bloody  deeds  which  made  Madame 
Roland  exclaim:  "Oh!  Liberty!  what  crimes  are 
committed  in  thy  name !  "  but  wc  ought  to  bless  the 
announcement  to  the  Old  World  of  the  great  Christian 
principle :  All  men  are  equal.  M.  de  Maistre  must 
have  been  a  man  of  a  powerful  mind  to  have  under- 
stood, notwithstanding  his  prejudices,  that  the  French 
Revolution  was  a  great  event  which  would  necessarily 
change  the  whole  state  of  the  world. 


<{l 


MEMOIR    OP 


*  June  16th.  —  Began  to  translate  a  fragment  of  Con- 
stantine,  which  has  been  read  at  the  Institut  by  Amed6e 
Thierry.  I  am  delighted  with  the  improvement  I  make 
in  the  writing  of  English. 

*  June  17th.  —  I  am  going  on  with  my  translation, 
and  I  hope  to  get  it  published.  It  is  difficult,  however, 
to  hit  upon  the  subject  which  may  be  likely  to  please 
the  general  reader.  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind 
to  translate  unworthy  books,  or  to  write  them  to  satisfy 
the  corrupt  taste  of  the  multitude.  To  sell  one's  pen  ! 
what  a,  degrading  thought !  Better  to  starve  than  get 
one's  living  thus. 

*  June  19th.  —  I  have  finished  my  translation.  I 
have  again  a  desire  to  study  some  historical  subject. 
This  little  extract  about  Constantino  has,  I  suppose, 
inspired  me  with  this  notion.  How  interesting  but 
how  difficult  would  be  a  history  of  Florence!  If  ever 
1  write  any  thing,  it  will  be  on  this  subject,  I  think. 
...  I  am  much  struck  by  the  different  modes  of 
writing  history,  and  the  singular  manner  in  which 
these  different  ways  coincide  with  the  epochs  in  which 
they  are  chiefly  employed.  The  favorite  system  now 
is  to  take  a  period,  that  is,  the  events  which  are 
grouped  around  some  great  man,  idea,  or  fact.  Such, 
for  example,  as  Mignet's  two  works,  "  Antonio  Perez," 
and  "La  Succes.sion  d'Espagne."  No  history  could 
be  more  serious,  especially  when  to  the  severity  which 
such  periods  naturally  impose  upon  an  author,  he  adds 
the  manner  of  collecting  and  producing  his  materials 
adopted  by  M.  Mignet.  I  yesterday  found  a  little  bit 
of  paper  written  when  studying  philosophy,  containing 
my  remarks  against  a  belief  in  the  eternity  of  man. 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  55 

I  cannot  believe  that  man  is  eternal  as  God  is  eternal. 
And  yet,  there  are  people  who  profess  this  doctrine, 
and  who  at  the  same  time  believe  in  the  eternity  of 
hell  !  If  wc  arc  eternal  as  God  is  eternal,  it  can  only 
be  in  losing  our  identity  in  the  entity  of  God  ;  if  we 
arc  destined  to  eternal  torments,  how  can  we  be 
absorbed  in  the  spirit  of  God  ?  For  my  part,  I  cannot 
imagine.  In  this  case,  it  would  only  be  those  who  are 
saved,  (what  an  immense  and  incomprehensible  word, 
in  the  religious  system  of  those  who  believe  in  eternal 
punishment,)  who  are  eternal.  I  think  we  can  only 
become  immortal.  An  eternal  being  is  he  who  has 
had  no  beginning  and  who  will  have  no  end ;  an 
immortal  being  is  he  who  has  had  a  beginning  but 
who  will  live  forever.  Hell  is  not  a  place  ;  it  is  a 
state  in  which  the  soul  finds  itself.  I  do  not  believe 
that  the  righteous  and  the  wicked  are  separated  ;  they 
dwell  in  the  same  place,  but  it  seems  to  each  a  place 
of  eternal  bliss  or  of  immense  suffering,  according  as 
their  soul  is  tranquil  or  agitated  by  the  remembrances 
of  their  past  life  : 

"  The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 
Can  make  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven  !  " 

'  If  this  be  true,  we  must  necessarily  have  a  certain 
recollection  of  our  past  life  ;  if  so,  how  can  we  not 
remember  that  we  were  created ;  how  then  can  we 
fancy  ourselves  eternal  ? ' 

'June  24th. — I  was  much  touched  last  evening  by 
the  grief  of  Monsieur  de  M.  at  the  loss  of  his  wife. 
In  speaking  of  her  his  voice  trembled  as  if  she  had 
died  but  yesterday.     How  moved  he  was  in  mention- 


96  MEMOIR    OF 

ing  those  long  evenings  which  lie  is  now  obliged  to 
pass  alone!  Alone,  what  u  dreadful  word  when  one 
has  been  accustomed  to  all  the  pleasures  of  domestic 
life.  There  is  more  poetry  in  such  an  affection  than 
in  all  the  puerilities  of  which  we  read.  In  such 
affections  and  in  the  noble  pursuits  of  a  pure  ambition, 
lies  all  the  poetry  of  life  ! ' 

'June  28th.  —  Read  d'Azeglio's  pamphlet  on  the 
"Ultimi  casi  della  Romagna."  His  theory  is  very 
good.  Partial  or  provincial  insurrections  can  never 
free  Italy  from  the  tyranny  to  which  it  is  at  present 
subjected.  After  dinner  went  with  Madame  P.  to  see 
Quinet.  He  is  very  amiable,  and  one  feels  perfectly 
at  ease  with  him.  We  talked  about  America  and 
France.  He  is  quite  of  my  opinion,  that  there  are 
two  causes  for  the  dislike  of  America  to  France. 
1st.  Because  the  Americans  fancy  that  the  French 
are  all  without  religion;  and  2d,  because  we  belong 
to  an  English  race.  This  is  the  only  thing  that  can 
possibly  explain  the  little  sympathy  of  my  countrymen 
for  France  and  the  great  Revolution  which  gave  to 
Europe  a  new  impulse.     Quinet  is  a   great  admirer 

of  the  works  of  Emerson He  is  much 

grieved  at  the  material  tendency  things  are  taking 
here.  The  bourgeoisie  made  the  revolution  of  1830, 
the  bourgeoisie  have  their  king,  and  form  a  sort  of 
caste,  of  aristocracy.  If  there  must  be  an  aristocracy, 
I  prefer  that  of  birth  to  that  of  wealth.' 

•July  5th.  —  Went  with  the  W.'s  to  Versailles,  to 
visit  Vemet  in  his  atelier.  He  is  very  amusing  and 
good-humored.  I  asked  him  how  he  could  let  Jazet 
engrave  his  pictures  a  la  maniere  noire.     "  Ce  que 


KOBEET    WHEATON.  57 

je  fais  rCest  ni  assez  corse  ni  assez  serieux  pour  etre 
hurine^^''  was  his  reply.  I  am  sure  it  is  impossible 
for  any  one  to  show  a  more  thorough  knowledge  of 
himself  than  this  answer  evinces. 

'  July  18th.  —  Anatole  came  to  see  me  yesterday 
evening.  We  were  both  sad.  Talked  about  his 
mother  and  Edward.  I  believe  this  is  the  first  time 
his  name  has  been  written  in  my  journal.  It  is  not 
that  I  do  not  often  think  of  him  and  of  the  exquisite 
pleasure  I  should  have  had  in  the  possession  of  a 
brother.  He  was  certainly  not  at  all  calculated  for 
this  world,  and  yet ' 

In  August,  1846,  Robert  went  to  England  with  his 
father.  The  contrast  between  the  life  and  gaiety  of 
Paris,  the  beauty  of  its  public  buildings  with  the  dull, 
smoky  appearance  of  London,  and  the  absence  of 
tasteful  or  magnificent  edifices,  struck  him  very  forci- 
bly. A  sudden  indisposition,  too,  which  confined  him 
to  the  house  for  some  days,  prevented  him  from 
enjoying  his  visit,  and  he  was  glad  to  return  to  Paris. 
During  the  ensuing  winter  he  continued  to  attend  the 
law  lectures,  wrote  some  letters  on  various  subjects 
which  were  published  in  the  New  York  Courier  and 
Enquirer,  and  also  the  article  on  Dante,  which  ap- 
peared that  year  in  the  North  American  Review.  At 
this  time  he  became  veiy  anxious  to  decide  upon  the 
profession  he  was  to  follow,  and  to  have  some  regular 
occupation,  so  that,  although  the  idea  of  leaving 
Europe  was  very  painful  to  him  on  some  accounts, 
his  regret  at  parting  from  his  friends  and  the  scenes 
of  his  early  days,  was  mingled  with  bright  anticipa- 


58  MEMOIR    OF 

tions  of  futurc  usefulness  and  success  in  his  own 
country. 

On  the  17th  of  April,  1847,  Mr.  Whcaton  and  his 
family  embarked  at  Havre,  and  landed  at  New  York 
on  the  19th  of  May.  The  voyage,  though  long,  was 
not  unpleasant,  and  it  was  impossible  to  enjoy  it  more 
than  did  Robert,  who  was  constantly  well  and  on 
deck. 

Mr.  Whcaton  immediately  went  to  Rhode  Island, 
his  native  State,  and  where  almost  all  his  relations 
continued  to  reside.  Robert  passed  the  summer  there, 
with  the  exception  of  a  short  visit  to  New  York,  at 
the'  time  of  the  public  dinner  offered  to  his  father  in 
that  city,  on  his  return  to  his  native  country  after  an 
absence  of  twenty  years.  In  September,  he  went  to 
Cambridge,  there  to  prosecute  his  law  studies.  Had 
diplomacy  in  this  country  formed  a  separate  study 
and  offered  a  permanent  occupation,  as  is  the  case  in 
Europe,  he  would  have  preferred  a  diplomatic  life  to 
any  other.  Or  had  his  means  been  such  as  to  give 
him  ample  leisure  and  opportunities  to  pursue  the 
necessary  studies,  he  would,  by  devoting  himself  to 
literary  pursuits,  have  sought  to  distinguish  himself  as 
an  historian.  But  situated  as  he  was,  it  becanx;  neces- 
sary that  he  should  choose  a  profession,  likely  to  prove 
a  lucrative  one.  He  had  at  that  time  little  taste  for 
the  law,  but  he  became  by  degrees  more  and  more 
interested  in  it,  and  was  certainly  possessed  of  some 
qualities  likely  to  insure  his  success.  He  had  quick 
insight  into  character,  great  self-control  and  easy  com- 
mand of  language.  Besides,  he  was  passionately  fond 
of  eloquence,  and  there  was  no  gift  ho  valued  more 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  59 

highly,  or  would  have  desired  so  mucli  for  himself,  as 
that  of  touching  the  heart  and  convincing  the  under- 
standing by  the  power  of  oratory. 

Some  passages  from  his  journal  and  letters,  will 
show  what  were  his  first  impressions  with  regard  to 
Cambridge  and  its  society,  and  the  general  tenor  of 
his  thoughts  at  that  time. 

'Sept.  15th. — I  am  now  established  in  my  rooms. 

A  pleasant  situation How  I  should  like  to 

find  a  friend  here.  But,  alas !  there  is  nothing  '  more 
difficult I  shall  never  find  a  better  oppor- 
tunity of  studying  English  history  than  the  present. 
If  ever  I  do  any  thing  I  have  fancied  it  would  be  in 
the  historical  line.  Yet  I  sometimes  doubt  if  I  have 
perseverance  enough. 

'Sept.  16th. — Read  Schlegel's  Lectures  on  Litera- 
ture. Had  I  succeeded  in  getting  Hallam's  Consti- 
tutional History,  I  should  not  have  examined  the 
catalogue  and  asked  for  Schlegel.  My  thoughts  would 
then  not  have  been  thrown  into  their  present  channel. 
I  have  the  intention  of  working  a  great  deal  this 
winter,  I  have  so  much  to  learn  and  so  many  facili- 
ties for  learning.  I  suppose  I  shall  often  be  in  my 
unhappy,  discontented  moods  this  winter.  A  solitary 
room,  snow  on  the  ground,  and  a  howling  wind,  can 
only  be  made  tolerable  by  hard  study. 

'Sept.  17th.  —  Took  tea  at  Mr.  Longfellow's.  He 
lent  me  Jasmin's  poems,  with  which  I  am  delighted. 
.  .  .  .  How  can  one  set  about  reading  Blackstone 
after  such  charming  poetry  ? 

'Sept.  19th.  —  I  like  Cambridge.     The  quiet  of  the 


60  MEMOIR   OF 

place,  and  the  literary  atmosphere  I  breathe,  dispose 

me  to  work 

'Oct.  5th.  —  Read  Schlegel  on  Dramatic  Art.  I 
agree  with  him  as  to  the  great  importance  of  this 
branch  of  art  in  a  civilized  society.  If  we  proscribe 
the  theatre,  we  should  proscribe  the  arts  in  general. 
The  theatre,  as  it  appears  to  me,  is  a  popular  mani> 
festation  of  combined  art.  I  like  to  recall  the  words 
inscribed  over  the  stage  in  the  theatre  at  Copenhagen, 
"  Ei  blot  til  Lyst."  (Not  for  amusement  only.) 
These  words  remind  me  of  my  childhood.  Happy 
days!  .  .  .  To-day  is  rhy  twenty-first  birthday. 
These  anniversaries  cause  us  to  look  back  on  our  past 
life,  and  involuntarily  to  ask  of  ourselves,  if  wo  are 
better  than  we  were  a  year  ago.  I  am  happier  than 
I  was  last  year.  Why  so?  .  .  .  .  I  read  over 
this  morning  the  letter  which  my  sister  M.  wrote  me 
on  my  twentieth  birthday.  May  I  always  read  it  with 
the  same  emotion !  How  these  sweet  emotions  of  the 
heart  purify  and  elevate  us  above  the  paltry  things  of 
this  world !  .  .  .  .  What  Schlegel  says  of  the 
invisible  sympathy  subsisting  in  an  audience  is  very 
good.  One  of  the  ends  of  civilization  is  to  establish 
this  electric  chain  between  men.  Are  we  collected 
together  in  a  community,  for  the  purpose  of  labor 
solely }  Should  we  not  participate  in  each  other's 
joy  and  sorrow .'....  I  never  could  accustom 
myself  to  the  way  in  which  this  line  of  Schiller, 
"  Ich  kann  nicht  Fursten  diener  »etn,"  was  listened 
to  in  Berlin.  Such  a  sentiment  should  either  be  con- 
demned or  applauded  by  a  discriminating  and  excita- 
ble audience. 


ROBEHT    WHEATON.  61 

;  *Oct.  7th. — Went  to  a  party  at last  evening. 

Not  amused.     How  stupid,  strange,  and  misanthropic 

I    must    appear There    is   an    excellent 

article  in  the  North  American  on  the  social  condition 
of  England.  Much  of  the  misery  in  that  country  is 
undoubtedly  to  be  attributed  to  the  atrocious  system 
of  primogeniture  and  entail.  But  how  abolish  such 
laws  without  overthrowing  the  whole  social  fabric  .'* 
If  the  aristocracy  were  destroyed,  what  would  become 
of  that  model  government  ? 

'Oct.  10th.  —  I  have  been  thinking  of  Paris,  and 
the  different  way  in  which  Sunday  is  passed  here. 
How  pleasant  to  see  so  many  persons  going  out  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air,  to  enjoy  themselves,  and  to  bless 
God  in  a  different  though  perhaps  as  sincere  a  manner 
as  those  who  pass  their  Sunday  within  four  cold  walls. 
How  I  miss  M.  Coquerel's  preaching !  He  never 
spoke  of  impossible  virtues,  nor  proposed  to  man  a 
system  of  sterile  contemplation 

'  Nov.  6th.  —  Read  Gibbon.  How  miserable  is 
this  way  of  attacking  religion.  If  a  man  has  the 
misfortune  not  to  believe,  why  not  state  his  reasons 
frankly  ?     .     .     .     . 

'Nov.  11th.  —  I  am  growing  every  day  more  unfit 
for  the  ordinary  society  into  which  a  man  is  thrown. 
.  .  .  .  I  wrote  to-day  the  most  lugubrious,  mis- 
anthropical letter  to  A.  that  ever  was  written.  The 
only  time  when  I  feel  as  if  1  lived  to  some  purpose  is 
when  I  am  writing.  The  only  difficulty  lies  then 
perhaps  in  a  want  of  regular  occupation. 

'Nov.  19th. — I  am  in  rather  better  spirits  this 
week.     Jean   Paul   says,    "  Ernste    Thdtigkeit   sohut 


03  MEMOIR    OF 

mit  dem  Leben  aus.^''  Ho  is  right.  Whenever  I  am 
occupied  I  am  more  contented.  I  wish  I  had  some 
regular  occupation  during  the  day,  with  sufficient 
leisure  for  literature.  I  should  then,  I  imagine,  be 
nearly  satisfied.  I  never  expect  to  be  so  entirely. 
Ambition  is  a  fatal  quality  without  extraordinary 
talents.  I  sincerely  envy  the  man  possessed  of  a 
tranquil  sense  of  duty,  which  enables  him  to  follow 
without  regret  a  laborious  profession.  I  can  hardly 
expect  that  my  desire  for  fame  will  ever  be  satisfied, 
as  I  feel  that  I  have  not  genius. 

*Dec.  26th. — Read  Lord  Lindsay  on  Christian  Art. 
.  .  .  .  In  my  opinion,  religious  art  in  our  day 
has  no  meaning  in  the  way  it  is  handled.  The 
religion  of  the  past  has  gone  by,  yet  artists  compose 
as  if  that  religion  were  still  in  all  its  vigor.  I  do 
not  see  why  the  rational  Christianity  which  is  fast 
gaining  ground  should  be  fatal  to  religious  painting. 
Can  the  beautiful  and  touching  scenes  of  the  Gospel 
not  be  as  well  portrayed  by  the  understanding  Chris- 
tian of  the  nineteenth  century,  as  by  the  superstitious 
Catholic  of  the  Middle  Ages  ?  .  .  .  .  Religion, 
that  is,  aspirations  after  what  is  beautiful,  good,  and 
true,  must  be  at  the  basis  of  all  our  admiration, 
whether  in  art  or  poetry.  Take,  for  example,  all 
descriptions  of  nature.  They  owe  their  beauty  to  the 
religious  feeling  they  awaken.  It  is  not  the  descrip- 
tion we  admire,  but  the  sentiment  which  it  arouses 
within  us 

'  Dec.  25th.  —  Passed  the  evening  at  Milton.  We 
had  a  Christmas  Eve.  The  children  seemed  to  enjoy 
It    These  festive  days,  which  called  forth  so  much 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  63 

joy  and  gaiety  when  we  were  children,  no  longer 
awaken  any  but  sad  recollections  when  we  have  grown 
into  manhood  ;  at  least  1  find  it  so. 

[exteacts  fkom  letters.] 

•Sept.,  1847. 

'  Dear  Mother,  — 
'  I  had  a  pleasant  ride  in  the  cars  with  Burns 
and  Wilson.  The  latter  has  many  peculiar  char- 
acteristics of  style,  but  is  a  delightful  writer.  — 
What  he  says  of  Bums  might  well  apply  to  Byron. 
"  Burns  and  such  men  as  Burns  showed  the  whole 
world  their  dark  spots  by  the  very  light  of  their  genius, 
and  having  died  in  what  may  be  called  their  youth, 
there  tlie  dark  spots  still  are,  and  men  point  at  them 
with  their  fingers."  Strange  that  you  who  are  so  hard 
upon  Byron,  who  certainly  suffered  enough  to  atone  for 
his  errors,  should  never  mention  the  faults  of  Bums. 
I  say  strange,  I  should  rather  say  natural,  for  we  never 
see  the  faults  of  those  we  like.  This  book  came  very 
apropos  after  reading  Jasmin.  They  are  kindred 
spirits,  although  the  one  is  surely  greater  than  the  other. 
I  quote  the  following  passage,  for  I  hate  to  feel  alone, 
"  And  during  these  seven  years,  when  his  life  was  the 
cheerless  gloom  of  a  hermit,  with  the  moil  of  a  galley- 
slave,  think  ye  not  that  the  boy-poet  was  happy,  mere- 
ly because  he  had  the  blue  sky  over  his  head  and  the 
green  earth  beneath  his  feet  ?  He  who  ere  long  in- 
vested the  most  common  of  all  the  wild  flowers  with 
immortal  beauty  to  all  ages,  far  beyond  that  of  the 
rarest,  till  a  tear,  as  of  pity,  might  fall  down  manly 
cheeks  on  the  dew-drops  nature  gathers  on  '  its  snawie 
bosom,  sunward  spread.'  " 


64  MEMOIR    OF 

*  What  a  pleasure  to  find  some  men  in  tliis  dull, 
prosaic  world  capable  of  feeling  the  beauties  of  a  poet, 
and  of  speaking  of  them  as  if  they  had  souls,  and  not 
as  some  critics  do. 

'  I  continue  to  be  on  quite  intimate  terms  with . 

I  believe  he  is  somewhat  at  a  loss  to  understand  that  a 
person  who  has  always  lived  at  courts  should  bo  simple 
and  unassuming.  Whatever  my  faults,  a  desire  to 
associate  with  great  people  was  never  one  of  them. 

*  Tell  grandpapa  I  have  begun  his  Gibbon,  and  shall 
read  it  with  care.  There  is  in  it  a  petty  spirit  of  hos- 
tility to  religion,  which  is  very  contemptible.  In  the 
eye  of  the  Christian  it  must  take  much  from  the  great- 
ness of  a  writer  who  seems  to  attack  religion  as  a  child 
attacks  a  bigger  boy  —  from  behind,  and  by  all  sorts  of 
mischievous  tricks.' 

In  a  letter  to  his  mother,  written  in  November,  1847, 
he  suggests  that  while  his  sisters  were  absent  in  New 
York,  she  and  his  father  should  board  in  Boston,  and 
says  :  '  You  will  have  one  of  your  children  near  you, 
if  not  the  one  most  necessary  to  you,  at  least  one  who 
loves  you  as  well,  and  would  do  any  thing  to  make  you 
happy.  Alas  !  that  it  is  not  in  his  power  !  It  must  be 
a  serious  trial  to  you  to  be  separated  from  M.  and  A., 
but  I  hope  better  times  will  come,  and  surely  they  will. 
For  my  own  part,  I  have  little  hope  of  ever  seeing 
again  that  quiet  and  delightful  family  circle,  which 
must  have  boon  the  object  of  envy  to  all  feeling  hearts. 
Is  it  so  in  all  human  lives,  or  is  our  case  an  exception  ? 
Must  the  time  inevitably  come  when  the  circle  is  broken 
up,  and  each  member  of  a  family  scattered  about  the 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  65 

world  ?  In  moments  of  sadness  and  dejection,  I  always 
think  of  a  line  of  my  favorite  poet : 

*  "  Existence  may  be  borne,  —  it  is  but  for  a  day." 

and  I  say  it  not  as  he  did,  in  the  bitterness  of  an  un- 
satisfied ambition,  but  in  a  truly  Christian  spirit.  I  am 
decidedly  wrong  in  writing  you  in  such  a  melancholy 
strain,  for  it  rather  becomes  me  to  cheer  your  prospects. 
There  is  a  bright  side  to  all  things,  however.  Let  us 
look  at  it.' 

'December,  1847. 

*  Dearest  Mother,  — 

*  You  are  wrong  in  supposing  I  am  not  perfectly 
contented  at  present.  It  is  infinitely  more  in  keeping 
with  my  nature  to  exaggerate  my  dark  thoughts  and 
feelings  than  to  overrate  my  moments  of  happiness 
and  contentment.  I  have  been  reading  Chateaubriand. 
His  Genie  du  Christianisme,  as  a  whole,  I  do  not, 
of  course,  like,  but  there  are  many  fine  passages  in 
it,  and, one  which  I  will  quote,  as  it  gives  a  pretty 
good  picture,  clothed  in  better  language  than  I  can 
command,  of  the  state  of  my  own  boyish  mind  : 

' "  II  reste  a  parler  d'un  etat  de  Tame,  qui  ce  nous 
semble  n'a  pas  encore  ete  bien  observe,  c'est  celui  qui 
precede  le  developpement  des  passions,  lorsque  nos 
facultes,  jeunes,  ardentes,  mais  renfermees,  ne  se  sont 
exercees  que  sur  elles-memes,  sans  but  et  sans  objet. 
Plus  les  peuplcs  avancent  en  civilisation,  plus  cet  etat 
du  vague  des  passions  augrpente,  car  il  arrive  une 
chose  fort  triste.  Le  grand  nombre  des  exemples  que 
Ton  a  sous  les  yeux,  la  multitude  des  livres  qui  traitent 
5 


66  MEMOIR   OF 

dc  I'hoinmc  ct  dc  ses  scntimcns,  rcndent  habiU>s  sans 
experience.  On  est  detrompe  sans  avoir  joui;  il  nstti 
encore  des  desirs  et  I'on  n'a  plus  d' illusions  ;  1' imagi- 
nation est  riche,  abondantc  et  niervcilleusc,  I'cxistence 
pauvre,  seche  et  desenchantee.  Ou  habite  avec  un 
coBur  plein  un  monde  vide,  et  sans  avoir  use  de  rien 
en  est  desabuse  de  tout.  L'amertume  que  cet  etat  de 
Tame  repand  sur  la  vie  est  incroyable." 

'  The  only  remedy  for  it  is  indifference,  and  I  am 
going  to  try  it.  Study  in  the  morning,  read  no  poetry, 
and  pay  visits  in  the  evening;  if  that  does  not  cure  a 
man  of  spleen  and  soi-disant  misanthropy,  I  don't 
know  what  will ! 

'  I  read  the  other  day,  Channing's  discourse  oil  the 
loss  of  the  Lexington.  Read  it !  There  is  eloquence, 
religion,  heart,  and  every  thing  that  is  wanted  in  a 
sermon.  None  of  that  absurd  timidity  which  makes 
preachers  think  that  they  cannot  speak  of  the  realities 
of  life.  The  more  I  read  Channing  the  more  I  admire 
him.  It  is  not  necessary  for  every  preacher  to  be  a 
man  of  genius.  Heart  is  the  thing  wanting,  and  if  he 
have  not  that,  let  him  go  plough  the  field,  or  take  part 
in  politics.  How  is  it  possible  for  men  who  would  be- 
come quite  excited  if  they  were  discussing  the  political 
or  financial  condition  of  the  country,  to  preach  as 
though  it  were  an  irksome  duty  ?  How  is  it  possible 
for  a  man  to  get  up  in  the  pulpit  and  find  nothing  to 
■ay  ?  Has  he  no  recollections  which  he  might  conjure 
up,  no  hopes  which  he  might  communicate  to  his 
hearers .? ' 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  67 

'  December,  1847. 

'  Dearest  Mother,  — 

'  I  had  a  letter  from  New  York  the  other  day.  A. 
tells  me  she  has  been  reading  another  of  those  innu- 
merable books  written  by  American  travellers  in 
Europe,  entitled,  Old  Wine  in  New  Bottles.  She  was 
reading  with  perfect  indifference,  when  she  came  to 
the  following  passage  in  the  description  of  the  Cemetery 
of  Pere-la-  Chaise  : 

'  "  I  found  two  graves  which  interested  me  extremely. 
On  one  the  inscription  was  as  follows  : 

H.  E.  W. 

Born  in  New  York,  June  21st,  1824. 

Died  in  Paris,  April  2d,  1840. 

'  "  Around  them  pots  of  fresh  flowers  and  garlands 
showed  that  though  far  from  home,  they  still  had  friends 
to  watch  over  their  remains.  From  the  slab  of  the 
first  I  took  the  shell  of  a  snail,  which  I  found  thereunto 
adhering,  and  shall  bear  it  to  the  United  States  as  a 
memorial  of  this  visit." 

'  With  my  views  of  life  and  death,  nothing  can  be 
more  remote  from  my  mind  than  to  wish  for  an^  instant 
that  Edward  should  again  be  among  us,  and  yet  I  could 
not  read  the  passage  without  deep  emotion.  His  has 
indeed  been  the  happy  lot !     I  think  with  the  poet : 

' "  To  die, 
To  sleep,  and  with  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 
The  heartache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
Which  flesh  is  heir  to,  'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished !  " 

'  And  yet  we  cannot  but  cast  a  look  of  regret  towards 
the  past,  egotistical  regret,  unworthy  of  the  friend,  un- 


68  MEMOIR    OF 

worthy  of  the  Christian.  How  many  thousand  recol- 
lections are  brought  to  our  mind  by  a  single  word  I 
The  peaceful  hours  of  childhood,  the  innocent,  careless 
pastimes  of  that  happy  age,  when  no  passions,  no  am- 
bitious views  can  break  our  rest !  How  beautifully 
Byron  has  said  it: 

'  "  But  ever  and  anon  of  griefs  subdued 

There  comes  a  token  like  a  scorpion's  sting, 

Scarce  seen,  but  with  fresh  bitterness  imbued  ; 

And  slight  withal  may  be  the  things  which  bring 

Back  on  the  heart  the  weight  which  it  would  fling 

Away  for  ever  :  it  may  be  a  sound  — 

A  tone  of  music  —  summer's  eve  —  or  spring  — 

A  flower  —  the  wind  —  the  ocean  —  which  shall  wound, 

Striking  the  electric  chain  wherewith  we  are  darkly  bound. 

*  "  And  how  and  why  we  know  not,  nor  can  trace 

Home  to  its  cloud  this  lightning  of  the  mind. 

But  feel  the  shock  renew'd,  nor  can  efface 

The  blight  and  blackening  which  it  leaves  l)ehind, 

Which  out  of  things  familiar,  undesign'd. 

When  least  we  deem  of  such,  calls  up  to  view 

The  spectres  whom  no  exorcism  can  bind. 

The  cold,  the  changed,  perchance  the  dead,  anew. 

The  mourn'd,  the  loved,  the  lost  —  too  many !  —  yet  how  few !  " 

'  In  reading  these  lines,  you  will  not  say  that  Byron 
did  not  feel.  The  power  of  poetry  to  bring  tears  to 
the  eye  has  seldom  been  carried  farther  than  this. 
Happy  are  they  who  feel  such  poetry  !  Many  tears 
will  they  shed  in  their  life  !  Many  are  the  deep  feel- 
ings which  will  tear  their  hearts,  but  yet  who  can  pity 
them  }  Who  can  wish  to  deprive  them  of  the  only 
real  joy  of  man  in  life  —  emotion }  1  would  not, 
although  I  feel  how  much  it  would  be  for  my  interest. 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  69 

I  would  not  exchange  with  the  cold  and  heartless  man, 
who  walks  through  life  with  the  regularity  of  a  clock, 

no  —  "  not  for  the  sea's  worth  !  " 

Something  too  much  of  this.  —  My  piano  has  arrived. 
The  ground  is  covered  with  snow  this  morning,  a  dreary 
spectacle  in  a  countiy  place  like  Cambridge,  but  such 
weather  is,  I  think,  far  more  healthy  both  for  body  and 
mind  than  the  warm  weather  we  have  had  lately.  A 
southerly  wind  always  seems  to  bring  with  it  sweet 
perfumes  of  romance,  and,  God  knows,  romance  had 
better  be  avoided  in  this  monotonous  life.' 

In  a  letter  written  at  the  close  of  the  year  1847,  to 
a  person  who  had  the  charge  of  him  in  childhood,  and 
to  whom  he  was  much  attached,  he  says :  '  As  we 
advance  in  life,  this  time  of  the  year  becomes  rather  a 
time  of  sadness  than  of  rejoicing.  We  cannot  but 
look  back  upon  the  past  and  mourn  for  those  who  are 
no  longer  with  us  to  partake  in  the  gaiety  of  the  season. 
I  may  safely  say  that  since  Edward  died,  Christmas 
has  been  to  me  a  day  of  sad  and  melancholy  recollec- 
tions rather  than  a  day  of  pleasure.  How  happy  we 
were  as  children  !  With  what  joy  we  looked  forward 
to  the  coming  day  !  Alas  !  all  this  has  gone  never  to 
return.  Excuse  me  for  dwelling  on  these  sad  thoughts, 
I  Cannot  help  it,  —  out  of  the  fulness  of  the  heart  the 
mouth  spcaketh,  and  my  heart  is  full.  ...  I  would 
not,  God  knows,  wish  him  who  is  gone  to  be  again 
among  us.  Not  those  who  are  gone  are  to  be  mourned 
for,  but  those  who  remain  behind.' 

To  his  youngest  sister  he  writes  : 

♦  Januarj',  1843. 

'  My  dear  A , 

'  I  have  allowed  some  time  to  pass  without  writin 


70  MEMOIR   OF 

to  you,  and  I  scarcely  know  whore  to  begin.  A 
new  year  has  just  opened,  and  like  every  other  year 
will,  I  suppose,  pass  too  quickly.  On  the  1st,  my  article 
on  M.  Coquerel's  Experimental  Christianity  appeared. 

,  who  never  flatters,  praised  it.     I  hope  at  some 

future  time  to  do  something  far  better ;  in  the  mean 
time,  these  articles  prove  that  although  educated  in 
Paris,  which  is  commonly  considered  the  most  frivolous 
of  places,  I  can  think  of  something  serious.  I  like  Cam- 
bridge, I  see  people  who  please  me,  and  I  know  what  is 
going  on  in  the  intellectual  world.  At  our  table  we 
talk  on  literary  and  scientific  subjects,  seldom  of  politics. 
Added  to  this,  I  have  found  a  friend  to  whom  I  can 
say  all  I  think  with  the  certainty  of  being  understood.' 

The  Dane  Professorship  of  Harvard  College  had 
been  offered  to  Mr.  Wheaton,  and  accepted  by  him. 
After  a  visit  to  Washington,  the  object  of  which,  that 
of  settling  to  his  satisfaction  a  lawsuit  respecting  the 
copyright  of  his  '  Reports,'  was  unsuccessful,  he  re- 
turned to  Providence  where  he  purposed  to  write  his 
lectures.  But  his  health,  which  had  been  gradually 
failing  after  his  return  to  his  native  country,  now  gave 
way,  and  towards  the  middle  of  February  it  became 
evident  that  he  must  renounce  the  Professorship.  .  !  . 
This  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  Robert,  who  had 
fondly  hoped  that  in  the  spring  he  would  be  reunited  to 
his  family.  The  intense  anxiety  and  pain  caused  by 
his  father's  illness  can  only  be  appreciated  by  those 
who  at  that  time  saw  him  intimately.  The  following 
letter  to  his  eldest  sister,  then  in  Washington  with  some 
friends,  was  written  under  the  influence  of  these 
feelings. 


ROBEET    WHEATON.  71 

'  March  Cth,  1848. 

'  My  dear  M , 

'  The  day  after  to-morrow  will  be  your  birthday, 
and  I  would  not  allow  the  anniversary  to  pass  without 
writing  you  a  few  lines,  if  only  to  repeat  how  much 
I  love  you,  and  to  express  my  heartfelt  regrets  that 
the  year  which  has  elapsed  has  brought  us  no  nearer 
the  happiness  which  all  seek  here  below,  but  that  we 
are  farther  from  it  than  we  have  ever  been  before. 
In  the  anxieties  and  disappointments  which  are  our 
portion  now,  I  console  myself  with  the  thought  that 
we  have  had  as  great  a  share  of  happiness  in  this 
world  as  falls  to  the  lot  of  most  human  beings.  In 
the  course  of  a  human  existence,  a  few  happy  years 
are  perhaps  all  we  can  expect.  Such  we  have 
enjoyed  while  others  are  seeking  them  in  vain.  This 
thought  brings  great  consolation  with  it,  and  I  like 
to  recall  it  and  find  in  it  new  strength  when  weary 
with  the  present  and  anxious  for  the  future.  I  wish 
I  could  offer  you  something  more  encouraging,  but 
know  not  how.  Those  days  which  in  all  the  illusion 
of  youth  we  call  festive  days,  now  appear  to  me  but 
as  days  of  sad  reflection  to  those  who  have  suffered,  — 
and  I  pity  those  who  know  not  the  purifying  effects 
of  great  afflictions,  nor  the  luxury  of  tears.  Such 
days  are  calculated  to  make  us  look  into  our  own 
hearts  and  compare  what  we  are  with  what  we  have 
been.  As  we  advance  in  life  we  become  more  and 
more  convinced,  that  our  happiness  does  not  depend 
on  external  circumstances,  but  rather  on  the  manner 
in  which  we  bear  those  trials  and  the  afflictions  with 
which  God  has  strewn  our  path.  Of  terrestrial  happi- 
ness we  may  say  with  Corneille  : 


73  MEMOIR    OF 

'  "  Corame  elle  a  I'eclat  du  verre, 
£lle  en  a  la  fragilii6." 

Such  happiness  ought  not  to  be  our  aim,  but  rather 
a  holy  and  peaceful  resignation.  In  moments  of  faith 
and  piety,  when  we  rise  above  the  miseries  of  this 
world,  it  is  not  difficult  for  us  to  feel  thus,  but  it  is 
not  always  easy  to  maintain  this  elevation  in  our 
thoughts  and  wishes.  Who  has  not  felt  jnoments  of 
doubt,  of  lukewarmncss  ?  Even  I  who  am  often 
reproached  with  never  having  been  young,  even  I 
have  felt  what  life  might  be,  when  mind  and  heart 
were  equally  satisfied,  but  I  confess  I  no  longer  feel 
this.  Life  appears  to  me  nothing  more  than  a  vast 
field  in  which  each  one  is  trying  to  get  the  start  of 
his  neighbor,  and  to  obtain  a  position.  What  sadness, 
what  bitterness  in  that  word  —  a  position.  Duty  on 
the  one  hand,  inclination  on  the  other ;  between  these 
two  mortal  enemies  we  pass  through  life.  But  enough 
of  this  —  my  courage  fails  me  when  I  allow  myself 
to  dwell  on  painful  thoughts.'         .... 

To  his  youngest  sister  he  writes : 

« March  9th,  1848. 

*  My  dear  A , 

*  I  was  at  Mrs.  on   Monday.      The  young 

ladies  had  gone  out,  and  I  spent  the  evening  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs. .  She  is  always  charming,  supe- 
rior both  in  heart  and  intellect.  On  Tut^sday  I 
went  to  Boston  to  hear  Mr.  B lecture  on  phi- 
losophy. The  lecture  was  truly  excellent,  the  sub- 
ject was  Fatalism.  .-.  ,*'fi  ,  What  a  sad  doctrine! 
and   how    much   better    to    make    one's    self   master 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  73 

of  one's  own  destiny,  submitting  at  the  same  time  to 
Providence,  I  have  always  thought  that  an  especial 
Providence  watched  over  our  family,  and  I  now  think 
so  more  than  ever.  The  French  professor  at  the 
college  has  been  taken  ill ;  I  have  been  asked  to  take 
his  place  temporarily,  and  shall  probably  ultimately 
obtain  it  as  a  permanency.  I  shall  have  to  give  a 
lesson  of  three  hours,  three  times  a  week.  The 
lessons  being  in  the  afternoon,  I  shall  not  be  prevented 
from  continuing  my  law  studies.  I  am  most  happy  at 
this  unexpected  circumstance,  for  I  have  long  sought 
a  regular  occupation,  one  that  would  give  me  a  certain 
responsibility  and  raise  me  in  my  own  esteem.  I 
have  just  begun  Mr.  Norton's  work  on  the  Unity  of 
God.  It  is  admirably  thought  and  written.  He  ex- 
presses a  thought  which  I  am  told  has  excited  great 
indignation,  viz. :  that  no  one  really  believes  now  in 
the  Trinity.  I  had  this  thought  at  so  early  an  age, 
that  it  did  not  strike  me  on  reading  the  book.  .  .  . 
I  read  two  sermons  of  Buckminster  the  other  day 
on  the  character  of  Peter  and  Paul,  which  are  very 
fine.  What  a  charming  and  touching  life  was  his ! 
To  be  a  prey  to  the  most  dreadful  illness,  and  to  have 
such  faith  and  resignation,  argues  no  common  soul. 
But  1  must  leave  you,  though  I  have  still  much  to 
say.' 

On  the   11th  of  March,  his  father  breathed  his  last. 
Notwithstanding   his   state   of  health,   his   death   was 

unexpected,  and  Robert  was  not  with  him 

It  would  be  too  painful  a  task  to  attempt  to  describe 
tlic  agony  of  his  grief.     He  had  lived  with  his  father 


74  MEMOIR   OF 

as  few  sons  do,  admiring  him,  looking  up  to  him,  yet 
communicating  with  the  most  perfect  unreserve  with 
him,  and  scarcely  realizing  the  difference  in  their 
ages,  and  to  lose  him  at  the  moment  when  he  was 
about  entering  on  the  duties  of  life,  and  when  he 
felt  that  he  most  needed  his  advice  and  support,  was 
an  overwhelming  blow.  How  deeply  he  felt  it,  the 
following  lettdr  shows.  We  should  remark  that  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  writing  to  his  mother  in  English, 
but  that  his  letters  to  his  sisters  were  invariably  in 
French. 

<  April  4tb,  1848. 

*  My  dear  M , 

'  I  am  once  more  in  Cambridge,  and  my  first  occu- 
pation is  to  write  to  you.  My  silence  was  doubtless 
understood,  and  you  could  not  have  attributed  it  to 
forgetfulness.  What  could  I  say  in  the  first  moments  of 
such  a  bereavement?  What  consolation  could  I  offer? 
In  such  cases  there  is  nothing  to  be  said ;  if  any  balm 
is  to  be  found  for  such  grief,  it  is  within  ourselves 
we  must  seek  it.  Those  who  have  gathered  up  real 
treasures,  that  is,  true  and  sincere  piety,  find  them- 
selves rich  in  days  of  sorrow,  for  we  have  neither 
time  nor  sufficient  calmness  to  seek  them  at  the 
moment  they  are  most  necessary.  Such  a  treasure 
you  possess ;  I  have  it  also,  and  I  venture  to  affirm  it, 
for  mine  is  not  the  glory.  I  have  written  to  M. 
Coquerel,  to  whom  I  owe  much  —  the  knowledge  of 
"  Christ  and  of  Christ  crucified,"  and  the  unshaken 
belief  in  immortality,  immediately  afler  death.  I  have 
confidence  in  this  sublime  thought.     Our  father  whom 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  75 

we  love  and  mourn,  has  already  entered  upon  a  new 
sphere  of  activity,  where,  freed  from  all  earthly 
trammels,  from  all  earthly  cares,  he  can  act  from 
eternity  to  eternity.  He  sees  us,  too,  I  love  to  think, 
he  knows  what  we  are  doing.  And  why  should  this 
not  be  ?  There  is  nothing  in  the  mourning  of  a  whole 
family  to  inflict  pain  upon  a  blessed  soul.  Purified 
and  spiritualized,  the  immortal  soul  must  attach  more 
importance  to  the  spiritual  state  of  those  who  grieve 
for  it,  than  to  their  temporal  state.  And  in  respect 
to  this,  our  father's  spirit  must  rejoice  that  we  who 
have  not  seen,  still  believe.  If  you  can  procure  them, 
read  Mr.  Greenwood's  "  Sermons  of  Consolation." 
You  will  find  they  contain  many  passages  calculated 
to  calm  your  doubts  and  confirm  your  faith.  How 
strange !     The  evening   on  which  our  father  passed 

away,  I  was  at  the 's.     I  sang  "  0  hell '  alma  !  " 

and  on  going  away,  C put  into  my  hands  Green- 
wood's Sermons,  advising  me  to  read  them.  Before 
going  to  bed,  I  read  one,  the  next  morning  I  read 
another.  I  was  calm  and  prepared.  G.  came  and 
told  me  the  cruel  truth.  Must  one  not  say  with 
Wallenstcin,  "  Es  giebt  kcinen  Zufall." 

'  Adieu,  love  me  ;  we  are  so  little  while  on  this 
earth,  that  we  must  not  fail  to  cultivate  the  affections, 
for  death  comes,  and  with  it  regrets  at  not  having  been 
united.  What  is  there  in  life  worth  troubling  one's 
self  about,  or  making  the  subject  of  discussion  ?  Let 
us  live  in  peace,  let  each  of  us  perform  our  respective 
duties,  and  we  shall  be  happy  in  the  only  sure  way. 

'  I  shall  accept  for  the  next  term  the  place  of 
French  Instructor  in  the  college  here.     It  is  the  best 


76  MEMOIR    OF 

thing  I  can  do.     Mr.  wishes  me  to  go  abroad. 

I  do  not  desire  it.     Why  place  the  ocean  between  us, 
when  we  have  so  short  a  time  to  be  together } ' 

Robert  was  at  this  time  in  his  twenty-second  year ; 
he  had  never  before  been  separated  from  his  family 
for  any  length  of  time,  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
depend  on  his  father  more  than  is  usual  with  young 
men  of  that  ago  in  this  country,  and  his  long  resi- 
dence abroad  had  made  him  almost  a  stranger  here. 
He  had  now,  as  it  were,  to  begin  life  anew,  to  make 
to  himself  new  interests,  to  enter  upon  a  settled  occu- 
pation, to  learn  to  r^ly  upon  himself  only,  and  instead 
of  seeking  support  from  others,  to  give  it  in  his  t\im. 
He  did  all  this  and  he  did  it  nobly.  Although  obliged 
to  dispense  with  many  of  the  luxuries  and  enjoyments 
to  which  he  had  been  accustomed,  with  the  comforts 
of  home  and  with  the  pleasures  of  the  domestic  circle, 
which  to  one  who  set  so  high  a  value  on  family 
affection,  were  more  necessary  than  aught  else,  no 
murmur  ever  escaped  him.  He  applied  himself  cheer- 
fully to  the  task  of  instruction,  and  indeed  took  a 
deep  interest  in  it,  and  devoted  the  rest  of  his  time 
to  useful  reading,  to  his  improvement  in  writing  Eng- 
lish, and  to  his  law  studies.  Although  he  continued 
to  feel  the  want  of  some  of  the  resources  a  large 
city  offers,  he  became  in  time  really  attached  to 
Cambridge.  The  tone  of  its  society  was  congenial 
to  him,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  appreciated  here. 
The  peculiarity  of  his  position  as  an  American,  and 
yet  a  stranger  in  America,  was  felt,  and  at  the  time 
of  his  great  bereavement  he  found  the  interest  and 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  77 

sympathy  he  so  much  needed.  To  the  kindness  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Norton  he  was  indebted  for  many 
pleasant  hours  passed  at  their  house  ;  in  Mr.  Long- 
fellow and  Mr.  Bowen  he  always  found  the  kindest 
encouragement  in  his  literary  pursuits,  and  there  were 
other  persons,  both  of  his  own  age  and  older,  whose 
society  and  conversation  made  his  leisure  hours  pass 
agreeably,  and  prevented  him  from  dwelling  on  pain- 
ful recollections.  Although  many  of  his  letters  breathe 
a  spirit  of  despondency,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
such  was  the  constant  tone  of  his  mind.  There  wer6 
times  when  he  enjoyed  life  as  much  as  at  others  he  felt 
its  sorrows  deeply.  He  was  capable  of  great  en- 
thusiasm ;  —  fine  music,  poetry,  or  eloquence,  by  rous- 
ing all  the  warmest  emotions  of  his  nature,  gave  him 
that  intensify  of  pleasure  which  only  noble  souls  can 
feel.  There  were  times,  too,  when  his  anticipations  of 
the  future,  his  hopes  of  usefulness  and  success  in  life 
were  bright  and  sanguine,  and  at  such  times  he  was 
undoubtedly  as  happy  as  most  persons.  He  was,  as 
we  have  already  said,  peculiarly  sensitive  to  every 
change  of  temperature,  and  for  that  very  reason,  no 
one,  perhaps,  ever  derived  more  enjoyment  from  fine, 
unclouded  weather.  Often  on  one  of  those  bright  days 
in  April  or  May,  which  all  the  population  of  busy  Paris 
pours  forth  to  enjoy,  he  would  say  to  his  sisters,  with 
one  of  those  smiles  which  those  who  knew  him  well 
cannot  forget,  '  This  is  the  perpetual  spring  of  the 
garden  of  Eden.'  The  autumn  weather  in  our  climate 
he  also  enjoyed  extremely,  and  usually  was  in  good 
spirits  while  it  lasted.  In  his  short  though  frequent 
visits  to  his  family  in  Providence,  he  always  endeavored 


^  MEMOIR    OF 

to  cheer  them  by  a  lively  account  of  the  little  incidentB 
of  his  life  in  Cambridge,  or  by  repeating  to  them  any 
amusing  anecdotes  he  had  heard  there  or  in  Boston. 
These  he  told  with  considerable  spirit,  for  he  had  a 
-  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous  and  a  talent  of  mimicry, 
though  he  rarely  exercised  it,  and  then  with  great  good 
nature.  His  language  in  conversation,  as  well  as  in 
writing,  though  simple  and  devoid  of  all  affectation, 
was  usually  well  chosen,  and  in  one  who  had  so  perfect 
a  command  of  the  French  language,  it  was  rather  re- 
markable, not  only  that  he  never  hesitated  for  an 
English  word,  but  that  when  the  choice  between  a 
Norman  and  a  Saxon  word  was  left  him,  he  usually 
preferred  the  latter. 

It  was  Mr.  Wheaton's  intention  to  bring  out  a  new 
edition  of  his  History  of  the  Northmen,  and  he  had 
made  an  arrangement  with  Messrs.  Appleton  &  Co. 
for  that  purpose.  He  had  written  an  Introduction  of 
several  pages,  and  proposed  to  add  a  chapter  on  the 
Normans  in  Sicily,  and  some  interesting  notes,  which 
the  progress  of  historical  research  during  the  last 
twenty  years  rendered  desirable.  Robert  hoped,  with 
the  aid  of  the  materials  collected  by  his  father,  still  to 
complete  the  work,  but  after  some  consideration,  Messrs. 
A.  &  Co.  declined  to  undertake  its  publication.  In  a 
letter  written  April  1  Itli,  1848,  he  says : 

*  My  dear  A , 

'  I  have  been  so  hard  at  work  on  "  The  Northmen  " 
for  some  days  past,  that  it  has  been  impossible  for  me 
to  write  you.  Having  determined  to  take  more 
exercise,  I  walk  now  every  day  for  a  couple  of  hours, 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  79  " 

and  feel  the  better  for  it.  Have  you  seen  the  last 
news  from  Europe  ?  Lamartine  shows  a  good  deal  of 
moral  and  physical  courage,  but  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
he  may  be  too  conservative  for  the  masses.  It  seems 
to  me  impossible  that  with  his  habits  of  thought,  he 
should  ever  become  a  demagogue.  Some  newspapers 
propose  a  ver\'  sensible  measure.  It  is  to  remove  the 
Assembly  from  Paris  to  some  provincial  town.  In  a 
country  where  for  fifty  years  all  the  governments  that 
have  succeeded  each  other  have  centralized  every  thing 
in  the  capital,  it  would  be  impossible,  however,  though 
it  is  quite  true  that  there  can  be  no  real  liberty  of  dis- 
cussion in  a  city  like  Paris.  .  .  .  The  weather 
now  is  exquisite,  —  real  spring  weather.  This  is  the 
season  of  the  year  that  I  prefer,  as  much  for  the  recol- 
lections  of   the   past   as  for  the  present.     Yesterday 

evening  I  made  my  first  visit  to  the 's,  who  had 

urged  me  to  come.  As  you  may  suppose,  it  was  a 
trying  visit,  particularly  in  perspective,  but  I  am  glad  I 
have  been,  for  now  I  feel  that  I  can  go  again.     I  met 

Mr.  L the  other   day.     He    spoke  of  papa  and 

"  The  History  of  the  Northmen ; "  he  is  glad  I  am  at 
work  on  it.  ...  I  was  looking  over  a  work  of 
Lamennois  the  other  day  and  saw  this  phrase,  which 
applies  very  well  to  the  present  state  of  France  :  "  One 
of  the  most  dangerous  follies  of  our  age  is  to  imagine 
that  a  state  may  be  constituted  or  a  society  formed  from 
one  day  to  the  other,  as  you  raise  a  manufactory." 
The  only  thing  I  have  heard  about  the  French  exiles 
that  has  really  touched  me,  was  to  learn  that  the 
mother  of  M.  Guizot  had  attended  the  French  Protes- 
tant Church  in  London.     After  a  life  so  noble  as  hers, 


QO  MEMOIR    OF 

after  having  sufTered  so  much,  it  is  hard  for  her  to  be 
again  exiled  !  She  had  almost  the  right  to  hope  that 
for  her  all  earthly  revolutions  were  at  an  end,  and  that 
she  might  contemplate  in  peace  the  greatness  of  her 
son,  to  which  she  so  much  contributed.  When  we  be- 
hold such  reverses,  when  such  misfortune  may  assail 
us  on  all  sides,  we  are  tempted  to  exclaim  with  Lamar- 
tine  : 

*  "  Ainsi  toujours  pouss6s  vers  de  nouveaux  rivages, 
Ne  jwur^-ons  nous  jamais  sur  I'ocean  des  ages 
Jeter  I'aacre  un  seal  jour  ? " 

*  There  are  moments  in  life,  especially  at  this  season 
of  the  year,  when  the  greatest  happiness  would  be  to 
stop,  to  contemplate,  to  dream  !  But  no,  we  must  on- 
wards, always  onwards !  There  is  no  repose  here 
below. 

'  On  my  return  I  found  a  very  kind  letter  from  M. 
Berenger,*  asking  me  for  some  notes  on  papa's  life 
and  works,  in  order  to  make  a  report  to  the  Academy 
of  Moral  and  Political  Sciences.  I  should  like  to  send 
them  to  him  immediately.  Will  you  assist  me  to 
furnish  them  ?  ' 

[extracts  from  journal,  1848.] 
June  8th.  —  I  have  been  reading  Channing's  Me- 
moirs, etc.  Am  again  induced  to  write  a  journal  — ^ 
not  of  what  I  do  —  but  of  what  1  think.  There  is  truly 
matter  enough.  How  many  thoughts,  how  many  reso- 
lutions we  let  go  by  without  noticing  them  as  we  should. 

♦  M.  Berenger,  a  member  of  that  section  of  the  French 
Institute  of  which  ^U.  Whealon  was  a  curressponding  member. 


^mm0>^ 


ROBERT   WHEAT  ON.  81 

The  perusal  of  the  memoirs  of  a  man  like  Dr.  Chan- 
ning  has  somewhat  the  same  influence  as  intercourse 
with  a  good  and  great  man.  We  feel  as  if  we  too 
would  like  to  reach  that  pure  and  serene  mental  condi- 
tion, which  is  the  only  true  source  of  happiness  in  this 
world.  What  I  the  most  admire  in  Channing  is  that 
vivid  and  bright  conception  of  a  future  state,  of  which 
he  seems  to  speak  as  of  a  thing  which  he  had  himself 
seen.  Could  I  but  constantly  keep  before  me  so  con- 
soling, so  soothing  a  belief!  It  is  nothing  to  be 
virtuous,  religious,  and  full  of  lofty  inspirations  by  im- 
pulse !     Pascal  was  right : 

"  La  vertu  sejuge  $ur  ce  que  Von  fait  d'ordinaire." 

Prayer  is  undoubtedly  the  greatest  means  of  attaining 
to  a  Christian  life.     I  feel  all  the  importance  of  this 

spiritual  communion  with  our  Creator 

Prayer  should  be  entirely  mental,  spiritual,  and  I  know 
not  how  to  abstract  myself  from  all  form  in  order  to 

hold  this  communion  with  God 

'  June  10th.  —  Mr.  Bowen  came  to  see  me  this 
morning,  and  we  talked  about  many  interesting  subjects. 
He  rather  startled  me  by  the  question  whether  I  had 
never  had  any  idea  of  studying  theology.  How  one 
word  can  at  times  throw  you  into  a  perfect  whirlwind 

of  thought B.  thinks  too  well  of  me  in 

supposing  that  I  am  fit  for  the  ministry.  What  a 
responsibility  !  What  a  task  !  Too  much  for  one  so 
weak,  so  fluctuating  as  I  am.  But  then  would  there 
be  any  ministers  of  the  Gospel,  if  the  standard  were 
placed  so  high  ?  Is  that,  however,  a  reason  sufficient 
for  placing  it  lower  .-'  ' 
6 


8S  MEMOIR    OP 

[letters.] 

Cambridge,  April  11th,  1848. 

'  Dearest  Mother,  — 

'  I  had  a  long  letter  from  Mr.  Osgood  yesterday.  It 
was  very  kind.  He  desires  me  much  to  write  on  the 
Catechism  of  M.  Coquerel.  I  answered  him,  saying 
that  I  was  very  busy  at  present,  but  offering  to  do  any- 
thing in  my  power  for  the  advancement  of  Christian 
education.  I  gave  him  my  views  on  the  subject  very 
freely,  and  asked  for  his. 

'  I  am  actively  engaged  with  "  The  Northmen,"  a 
most  charming  occupation  to  me.  It  seems  almost 
like  living  over  again,  to  tread  the  path  which  has  been 
trodden  by  one  whom  we  have  loved.  How  many 
recollections  are  brought  to  my  mind  by  this  work. 
Copenhagen  and  all  its  childish  associations.  Paris, 
where  he  was  quite  happy  when  preparing  the  French 
edition  of  the  Northmen.  It  seems  at  times  when  I 
meet  with  a  difficulty  that  I  could  go  and  ask  him  to 
solve  it.     So  deeply  is  habit  rooted  within  us !    • 

<  Cambridge,  Hay  4tb,  1848. 

.  .  .  .  '  Notwithstanding  my  desire  to  be  with 
you,  I  believe  it  is  better  for  me  to  be  .here.  Sur- 
rounded by  persons  who  do  not  recall  our  misfortune,  I 
find  more  strength  for  my  labors,  and  God  knows  I 
require  it.  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  that  I  have  received 
the  official  appointment  as  French  Instructor  in  the 
College,  with  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars,  which 
will  probably  be  increased  to  six  hundred  dollars. 
This  will  make  me  feel  independent,  one  of  the  great- 
est earthly  blessings !    I  see  the  N 's  very  often  j 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  83 

they  are  very  kind,  and  when  I  think  of  the  happiness 
we  might  have  enjoyed  here,  I  feel  very  sad.  I  never 
pass  by  the  house  which  we  would  have  inhabited, 
without  thinking  of  the  hopes  of  tranquil  domestic 
happiness  which  I  had  formed.  They  are  now  vanished. 
How  little  we  know  whether  we  shall  ever  realize  the 
plans  we  form ! ' 

In  the  month  of  August,  1848,  Robert  heard  Dr. 
Bushnell  deliver  an  oration  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society  at  Cambridge,  and  was  much  delighted  with  it. 
In  speaking  of  the  dinner  given  on  that  occasion,  he 
says  :  '  Mr,  Parsons  called  upon  Mr.  Osgood  to  say 
something  on  the  subject  of  the  loss  which  the  society, 
the  country,  and  the  civilized  world  had  sustained  in 
the  person  of  Henry  Wheaton,  with  which  Mr.  Osgood 
complied  with  true  feeling.  .  .  .  All  my  friends 
seem  interested  in  my  welfare.  I  look  forward  to  the 
coming  season  with  much  pleasure,  I  should  say  happi- 
ness, if  we  could  only  all  once  more  be  together.  I 
confidently  trust  that  we  may  soon  be  reunited.  In  the 
meanwhile  your  love  for  me  will,  I  am  confident, 
enable  you  to  bear  this  temporary  separation.  I  should 
be  more  contei>ted  with  this  separation  if  all  the  advan- 
tages were  not  on  my  side.' 

'  Cambridge,  Sept.  8th,  1848. 

*  My  dear  A , 

'  I  cannot  do  better  than  to  reply  to  your  kind  letter 
on  your  birthday.  I  know  how  painful  are  these  annual 
returns  of  days  which  in  childhood  were  dear  to  us, 
but  I  cannot  let  this  day  pass  without  assuring  you  anew 


Bft  MEMOIR   OF 

of  all  my  affection  and  of  my  lively  desire  to  see  you, 
and  all  who  are  dear  to  me,  as  happy  as  they  would 
wish.  But  happiness  is  scarcely  of  this  world,  and  all 
we  can  hope  to  attain  here  is  a  tranquil  and  contented 
mind.  For  myself,  I  am  happy  at  present  I  have 
that  which  I  have  long  desired,  a  regular  occupation. 
I  feel  that  I  am  not  altogether  useless,  and  that  although 
my  activity  is  exercised  on  a  narrow  field,  I  am  doing 
something.  It  is  an  admirable  discipline  for  the  mind 
to  know  that  a  certain  number  of  persons  depend  upon 
you,  and  that  your  presence,  if  only  for  the  most  trivial 
thing,  is  necessary  at  certain  hours.' 

•October,  184S. 

'  Dear  M , 

*  I  have  nothing  new  to  communicate.  My  life  is 
monotonous,  but  it  suits  me.  Nothing  is  better  for  me 
than  regular  occupation.  My  class  still  interests  me, 
but  Ollendorff  I  abhor.  I  have  been  reading  Lessing 
for  the  first  time.  It  is  a  pity  the  Germans  do  not 
adopt  his  style  more  frequendy  ;  it  is  clear  and  simple 
as  a  French  author.' 

'  Dec.  lUb,  1846. 

*  My  beloved  Mother,  — 
'  It  was  a  charming  custom,  that  of  my  childhood, 
to  write  you  a  letter  on  this  day.  I  renew  it  now,  not 
that  words  can  express  to  you,  or  reveal  to  any  one 
how  much  I  love  you,  but  because  I  know  that  a  line 
from  me  will  cast  a  gleam  of  light  over  your  first 
widowed  birthday.  If  anything  could  have  added  to 
my  affection  for  one  who  had  devoted  her  life  to  her 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  85 

cliildren,  who  has  lived  in  and  for  them,  the  sad  expe- 
rience of  the  past  year  would  do  it.  You  are  now,  in 
the  language  of  the  world,  my  only  surviving  parent. 
I  am  no  longer  the  protected,  but  the  protector. 
Heaven  grant  me  the  force  of  character,  the  firmness 
of  purpose  and  of  principle  necessary  for  this  duty. 
My  debt  of  gratitude  to  you  is  too  great  for  me  ever  to 
hope  to  discharge  it.  Should  I  be  able  to  spread  over 
your  declining  years  some  rays  of  gladness,  my  fondest 
hopes  will  have  been  realized,  and  I  shall  pursue  the 
journey  of  life  with  the  consciousness  of  having  wiped 
away,  as  far  as  lay  in  my  power,  a  few  of  the  tears 
which  the  loss  of  him  whom  we  all  mourn,  must  cause 
you  to  shed.     My  heart  is  full  to  overflowing.     .     .     . 

I  will  say  no  more If,  as  I  cannot  but 

believe,  those  who  precede  us  in  death  still  are  with  us, 
are  not  our  immortals  with  us  now  ?  I  feel  as  if  they 
were  blessing,  encouraging,  giving  us  comfort.' 

*  Cambridge,  Dec.  Slst,  1848. 

'  My  dear  M , 

*  This  is  the  last  time  I  shall  write  the  date  '48,  but 
not  the  last  time  I  shall  recall  the  year  which  has  left 
such  profound  traces  in  our  lives.  This  morning  I 
heard  a  fine  sermon  from  Dr.  Walker  on  the  proper 
employment  of  time. 

'  You  will  be  much  surprised  to-morrow  at  seeing  me, 
and  I  am  happy  to  think  how  much  pleasure  it  will  give 
you.  Healy  is  really  too  kind,  but  he  wished  so  much 
to  take  my  likeness  that  I  could  not  refuse  to  sit.  My 
friends  are  much  pleased  with  it.  The  truth  is,  it  was 
painted  con  amore.  I  talked  with  a  young  Frenchman 
a  greater  part  of  the  sittings.' 


86  MEMOIR   OF 

This  is  indeed  an  admirable  likeness.  The  smootli 
brown  hair,  the  soft  greyish  eyes  with  their  long  dark 
lashes,  so  full  of  tenderness  and  soul,  the  fair,  noble 
forehead,  the  mouth  so  beautifully  formed  and  so  ex- 
pressive, all  are  there !  It  is  Robert  in  all  the  bright- 
ness of  youth  and  hope,  as  he  looked  at  those  brief 
intervals  of  his  short  life  when,  well  in  health  and 
spirits,  he  felt  no  fears  and  anxieties  for  the  future. 
His  countenance,  which  struck  the  ordinary  beholder, 
wets  one  peculiarly  attractive  to  those  accustomed  to 
watch  its  varying  expression.  There  was,  as  has  been 
truly  said,  '  a  moral  beauty '  about  him  which  caused 
his  image  to  remain  indelibly  stamped  on  the  memory 
of  those  who  knew  him.  As  he  grew  up  he  became  ^ 
tall  and  slender,  but  he  had  none  of  the  awkwardness 
which  often  attends  great  height ;  on  the  contrary,  his 
movements  were  easy  and  dignified,  and  the  action  of 
his  white  and  well-shaped  hands  was  remarkably 
graceful. 

The  winter  vacation  of  that  year  he  spent  with  his 
mother  and  sisters  in  Providence.  It  was  soon  after 
his  relurn  to  Cambridge  that  the  following  letter  to  his 
eldest  sister  was  written  : 

'  March  7th,  1849. 

'  My  dear  M , 

'  I  scarcely  have  the  courage  to  write  you  again  on 
your  birthday,  though,  strange  to  say,  I  write  with  less 
sadness  than  I  did  last  year.  I  recall  with  what  anguish 
I  then  wrote.  Now  I  am  calm,  and  can  again  assure 
you  of  my  affection  and  of  the  regret  I  feel  that  we 
are  still  destined  to  live  apart.     I  am  more  and  more 


ROBERT  WHEATON.  87 

convinced  that  God  was  merciful  in  taking  from  the 
trials  and  deceptions  of  this  world  him  from  whom  for 
a  time  we  are  separated.  With  his  delicate  organiza- 
tion, how  could  he  have  been  happy  under  the  circum- 
stances in  which  he  was  placed  ?  Here  the  young  take 
the  place  of  the  old  in  more  rapid  succession  than  is 
the  case  in  Europe,  and  death  is  preferable  to  anxiety 
and  neglect.  This  is  but  a  small  consolation  to  those 
he  has  left  behind,  you  will  say.  True  —  and  I  feel  it 
the  more  as  the  sad  anniversary  approaches.  All 
which  I  suffered  last  year  at  this  time  comes  back  to 
my  mind,  and  I  cannot  but  repeat  that  we  are  strange 
beings.  When  we  recall  the  past,  the  sleepless  hours, 
the  tears  we  shed,  and  more  than  these,  the  concen- 
trated grief  which  finds  no  way  to  vent  its  bitterness, 
we  ask  ourselves  how  we  ever  recovered,  how  we  can 
again  take  part  in  the  vanities  and  struggles  of  life  ? 
But  it  must  be  so.  We  thought  ourselves  cast  down 
forever,  and  we  can  rise  from  the  border  of  the  grave 
in  which  we  seemed  to  have  buried  all  our  hopes,  to 
exclaim  with  Posa,  ^'■Acli  !  das  Leben  ist  dock  schon!" 
Yes,  life  is  beautiful,  notwithstanding  the  thorns  which 
wound  us  on  our  path,  notwithstanding  the  tombs  which 
open  under  our  feet.  Beautiful  indeed  is  life  in  those 
moments  of  faith,  when  it  appears  like  the  entrance  to 
another  existence,  like  the  vestibule  to  the  temple  of 
eternity.  Beautiful  when  we  do  our  duty,  when  we 
try  to  make  others  happy,  when  we  love  each  other  as 
we  have  done,  and  —  God  grant  —  may  do  to  our  latest 
breath,  and  even  longer,  until  that  supreme  moment 
when  we  shall  be  united  in  the  love  of  God.  I  have 
nothing  to  offer  you  to-morrow,  excepting  the  wish  that 


de 


MEMOIR   OP 


you  may  be  resigned  to  the  present  and  liopeful  for  the 
future.' 

In  another  letter,  written  in  the  month  of  April, 
1849,  speaking  of  a  proposal  made  to  him  through  the 
medium  of  a  friend,  with  regard  to  a  diplomatic  ap- 
pointment, he  says :  '  I  was  much  pleased  with  this 
proposition,  not  that  I  shall  accept  it,  but  because  it 
shows  that  I  have  many  kind  friends  ready  to  serve  me 
without  my  request.  It  is  a  new  proof  how  much  we 
owe  that  kind  parent,  who  was  so  unhappy  at  the 
thought  of  his  inability  to  leave  us  a  fortune.  If  I  saw 
you  more  happily  situated,  in  a  hojne,  I  might  try  to 
obtain  a  diplomatic  post  abroad.  The  situation  of 
Europe  would  render  such  a  post  very  interesting  at 
this  moment.  Cosmopolite  as  1  am,  it  would  be  an  ex- 
cellent school  in  which  to  study  general  politics  and  to 
perfect  my  knowledge  of  history.  But  so  long  as  you 
have  not  a  home  of  your  own  to  indemnify  you  for  all 
you  have  lost,  I  cannot  consent  to  add  to  your  other 
trials  that  of  being  separated  from  me.' 

In  another  letter  on  the  same  subject,  he  adds  : 
'  I  have  but  one  wish  at  present ;  it  is  to  establish  you 
all  here.  As  to  myself,  I  leave  my  reputation  to  the 
future.  If  God  grants  me  time,  1  have  no  doubts  or 
fears  on  the  subject.  I  might  appear  vain  were  I  to 
make  such  a  remark  to  a  stranger.  You  know  me 
well  enough  to  be  assured  that  I  am  only  frank.  I 
have  made  the  good  resolution  to  study  law  seriously. 
I  believe  this  is  what  I  ought  to  do :  to  finish  my  law 
studies  better  than  I  began  them,  and  open  an  office 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  8» 

Beside  this  good  resolution,  I  am  determined  to  give 
way  no  more  to  spleen,  but  to  see  every  thing  couleur 
de  rose.  Every  one  inclined  to  indulge  in  a  morbid 
state  of  mind  should  learn  by  heart  the  sentence  of 
Lord  Bacon  :  "  In  the  world's  theatre,  God  and  the 
angels  only  have  a  right  to  be  spectators.'"  I  purpose 
writing  several  articles  during  the  vacation.  With  such 
occupation,  I  shall  feel  the  tranquillity  which  will  enable 
me  to  pass  my  vacation  happily  and  peacefully  with 
you.' 

'  March,  1849. 

*  Dearest  Mother,  — 

'  I  am  extremely 

contented  just  now.  Things  seem  to  spring  up  on 
every  hand  without  any  effort  on  my  part,  so  that  I 
must  feel  confident  in  the  future.  With  many  kind 
friends,  sufficient  talent  —  though  I  am  not  disposed  to 
overrate  that  which  I  possess  —  I  think  my  chance  of 
success  is  very  great.  All  1  could  wish  is  to  see  my 
family  in  a  more  agreeable  situation,  and  that  I  hope 
will  be  brought  about  before  long.'     .... 

•  May  31st,  1849. 

'  My  dearest  Mother,  — 
'  I  have  again  allowed  a  longer  time  than  I  intended 
to  elapse  without  writing  you.  I  am  generally,  how- 
ever, too  busy  to  write  in  the  day,  and  I  have  of  late 
devoted  my  evenings  to  walking,  from  which,  added  to 
the  shower  bath,  I  already  feel  many  good  effects. 
The  action  of  the  body  upon  the  mind  is  one  of  the 
most  singular  phenomena  which  our  singular  nature 
affords.     I  find  that  since  I  take  exercise  and  use  cold 


90  MEMOIR   OF 

water,  I  am  less  nervous  than  I  was,  and  more  con-^ 
tented  and  good-natured  than  before.  You  must  not 
expect,  however,  when  I  come  to  Providence  next 
week,  to  see  an  extremely  fat,  robust,  and  jolly  indi- 
vidual. Indeed,  I  doubt  whether  you  would  wish  to  see 
such  lin^ne,  for  you  would  not  know  him.  I  shall 
spend  a^eater  part  of  next  week  with  you. 
The  more  I  live,  the  more  I  find  that  it  is  in  vain  for  us 
to  cling  to  anything  in  this  world.  Everything,  even 
what  is  apparently  the  most  desirable,  is  but  transient. 
Why,  even  the  Europe  in  which  we  lived  for  twenty 
years,  has  disappeared  from  off  the  earth !  If  we 
could  only  feel  at  every  moment  of  our  lives  that  such 
is  really  the  case,  and  that  therefore  it  is  useless  to 
attach  any  value  to  aught  but  genius  and  virtue,  —  for 
they  are  not  of  the  world,  but  rather  formed  here  for 
development  of  which  we  have  no  conception  now,  — 
how  happy  we  should  be  !  How  tranquilly  we  should 
encounter  all  the  misfortunes,  all  the  trials,  all  the  petty 
annoyances  of  life,  to  me  far  more  difficult  to  bear 
than  those  serious  afflictions  which  wring  the  heart  but 
do  not  break  the  spirit,  which  elevate  and  sanctify 
while  they  seem  for  a  time  to  have  crushed  all  hope. 
I  have  always  felt  that  the  only  moments  in  life  when 
we  live  as  we  were  intended  to  live,  are  those  calm 
moments  of  tranquil  resignation  which  succeed  the  first 
agony  and  the  first  stupor  occasioned  by  a  heavy  afflic- 
tion. You 'have  seen  me  in  such  moments  —  you  know 
what  I  mean.  But  I  did  not  write  to  make  you  weep, 
and  as  I  see  the  tears  rise,  let  me  wipe  them  away  as  I 
would  all  those  which  you  may  be  called  upon  to  shed. 
I  can  do  it  by  telling  you  that  I  am  happy,  as  far  as 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  91 

one  of  my  constitution  can  be  happy.  Happy  in  the 
firm  conviction  tliat  a  life  of  successful  labor  awaits 
me  ;  happy  too,  that  I,  with  all  my  imperfections,  have 
been  able  to  shed  on  your  existence  and  on  that  of  my 
sisters,  some  of  their  brightest  rays.  Why  should  I, 
with  false  modesty,  deny  to  myself  that  such  is  the 
case? 

The  summer  vacation  was  spent,  as  usual,  in  Prov- 
idence. When  Robert  returned  to  Cambridge,  he 
busied  himself  in  writing  an  article  on  M.  Coquerel's 
most  important  work,  of  which  he  speaks  as  follows  in 
a  letter  to  his  eldest  sister : 

'October,  1849. 

*  Dear  M , 

'  I  have  just  finished  my  article  on  M.  Coquerel's 
Experimental  Christianity.  I  do  not  think  it  very 
good,  and  if  it  succeeds,  it  will  be  owing  to  the  subject. 
I  have  re-read  and  meditated  on  this  work,  which  is 
admirable.  How  happy  to  believe  all  it  contains,  and 
to  believe  with  the  fervor  of  the  author.  To-day  we 
believe,  to-morrow  we  doubt,  and  in  the  intervals  we 
are  indifferent,  living  on  from  day  to  day  without  think- 
ing of  the  morrow.  But  it  would  be  too  great  a  boon 
never  to  doubt.  We  should  anticipate  on  immortality. 
When  once  we  have  believed,  faith  seldom  entirely 
leaves  us.  I  have  faith  when  I  am  advancing.  When 
I  doubt,  I  remain  stationary  or  go  back.' 

'  October  26th,  1849. 

*  Dearest  Mother, — 

*  I  am  quite  ashamed  at  having  let  so  many  days  go 
by  without  writing  you  a  line  ;  but  with  a  regular  occu- 


92  MEMOIR  OF 

pation  like  mine  time  flies  so  fast,  that  one  is  surprised, 
on  looking  back,  to  see  how  much  of  that  precious 
article  slips  away  almost   unperceived.     You  will  b^ 

delighted  to  hear  that  I  am  quite  sociable 

On  the  whole,  I  think  I  have  never  enjoyed  Cambridge 
more  than  now.  I  should  indeed  be  quite  happy  if  I 
could  but  see  those  I  love  in  more  fortunate  circum- 
stances. Byron  has  beautifully  expressed  the  feelings 
which  at  times  come  over  me,  in  those  lines  begin- 
ning,— 

"  But  ever  and  anon  of  griefs  subdued,"  etc. 

I  regret  to  say  that  Mr.  is  dangerously  ill ;  not 

expected  to  live  many  days,  but  fully  prepared  to  die, 
and  perfectly  aware  of  his  situation.  I  pray  God  that 
such  may  be  my  end.  I  feel  most  sincerely  for  his 
family.  It  will  be  a  blow  from  which  they  can  scarcely 
recover.  It  almost  seemed  an  intrusion  to  break  in 
upon  the  family  circle,  which  may  so  soon  be  broken 
up.  Alas !  I  feel  too  bitterly  all  which  that  word 
implies. 

*  I  have  taken  to  music  with  renewed  zeal  of  late, 
and  shall  thus  find  much  enjoyment  this  winter  I  trust.' 

*  December  25th,  1849. 

*  Dearest  Mother,  — 

'  Christmas  once  more  !  How  the  years  pass  by, 
and  how  little  they  bring  with  them  of  gladness !  We 
should  not  complain,  however.  Hope  is  still  left  tis, 
and  if  I  could  always  be  full  of  hope,  I  should  always 
be  happy. 

'  I  send  some  books  for  the  little  ones.     It  is  truly  a 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  98 

pleasure  for  me  to  make  presents  on  this  day,  as  I 
know  how  sad  it  is  to  have  passed  the  age  when  such 
things  conjure  joy  and  wipe  away  the  tear  which  ever 
and  anon  comes  starting  to  the  eye.  To  you,  what 
can  I  give  ?  I  feel  that  nothing  can  equal  my  love  or 
adequately  express  it.  If  I  have  caused  you  one 
unnecessary  sorrow,  one  uncalled-for  tear  during  the 
past  year,  forgive  me  and  remember  only  my   love. 

A  merry  Christmas  to  all  the  family ;  a 

contented  one  to  you.  Who  can  be  merry  who  has 
lived  to  see  many  returns  of  these  anniversaries, 
without  being  reminded  of  those  beautiful  lines  of 
Longfellow : 

*'  There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 
But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  ; 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 
But  has  one  vacant  chair." ' 

'  January  6th,  1850. 

'  My  dear  A , 

*  I  have  been  very  sad  for  the  last  fortnight,  which 
accounts  for  my  not  having  written  you  as  I  ought  to 
have  done.  I  have  now  recovered  and  am  going  to 
make  amende  honorable.  You  will  ask  me  why  I  have 
been  sad  ?  In  my  turn  I  will  ask  you  how  I  can  be 
otherwise  at  this  season  of  the  year  ?  How  many 
recollections  Christmas  and  New  Year's  day  awaken  ! 
How  many  resolutions  made  and  broken  !  How  many 
hopes  formed  and  deceived  !  The  saddest  things  about 
these  periodical  returns  of  certain  anniversaries  conse- 
crated by  the  sweet  recollections  of  youth,  is,  that  you 
seem  every  time  to  be  further  from  the  ideal  you  have 


94  MEMOIR   OF 

dreamed  of.  And  who  has  not  dreamed  of  one,  either 
of  ambition  or  of  love  ?  Even  those  natures  the 
coolest  in  appearance,  are  not  without  their  illusions. 
.  .  .  .  I  am  reading  Shirley  at  this  moment,  and 
am  much  interested  in  it,  I  scarcely  know  why.  The 
woman  who  wrote  it, —  for  I  persist  in  believing  it  to 
be  the  production  of  a  woman,  —  has  a  great  deal  of 
talent,  but  there  is  something  incomplete  and  even 
coarse  in  the  talent.  Have  you  read  it  ?  I  find  in  it 
my  portrait  at  fourteen,  — "  A  soul  of  thirty  in  a  body 
of  fourteen."     This  is  sad  but  true. 

'  We  had  a  magnificent  sermon  from  Dr.  Walker 
this  morning.  He  reviewed  the  fifty  years  which  have 
just  closed,  beginning  of  course  with  Napoleon.  He 
was  very  eloquent  in  saying  that  the  nothingness  of 
human  greatness  had  never  been  more  apparent  than 
in  the  career  of  the  Emperor.  All  that  he  did  for  his 
own  aggrandizement  has  disappeared  from  the  earth ; 
all  that  he  did  from  love  of  mankind  still  remains  an 
imperishable  monument.' 

'  I  have  not  written  anything  since  my  article  on  the 
Albigenses,  and  shall  probably  not  before  spring.  I 
shall  be  in  P;-ovidence  next  week,  and  intend  to  do  no 
work  during  the  vacation.  Perhaps  I  may  study  Italian 
a  little  with  you.' 

It  was  his  custom  to  spend  every  vacation  with  his 
family ;  but  these  intervals  of  leisure,  as  will  appear 
from  the  close  of  the  above  letter,  were  not  seasons  of 
idleness  or  mental  inactivity.  Several  of  the  articles 
he  published  were  written  in  Providence,  and  others  — 
which  he  never  found  time  to  complete  —  commenced. 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  95 

He  was  fond  of  reading  aloud,  and  as  he  was  anxious 
to  perfect  himself  in  doing  so,  he  read  to  his  mother 
for  an  hour  or  two  almost  every  day.  In  the  politics 
of  Europe  he  never  ceased  to  take  a  lively  interest,  as 
was  natural  in  one  who  had  been  accustomed  to  hear 
them  discussed  from  childhood  by  his  father  and  other 
diplomats.  All  that  relates  to  France  particularly  in- 
terested him.  He  read  eagerly  not  only  the  French 
papers,  but  every  brochure  of  any  value  that  fell  in  his 
way,  and  many  were  the  hours  he  spent,  standing  with 
his  arm  resting  on  the  mantel-piece,  as  v(as  his  habit, 
talking  of  the  changes  which  had  taken  place  in  that 
country,  and  speculating  on  their  probable  results.  All 
the  enthusiasm  which  was  excited  both  in  France  and 
in  this  country  by  the  establishment  of  a  Republic 
there,  never  for  a  moment  influenced  his  opinions ;  he 
constantly  predicted  its  speedy  downfall.  In  the  study 
of  history,  as  we  have  before  said,  he  always  found 
great  pleasure.  It  was  proposed  to  him  in  this  year  to 
prepare  an  universal  history  for  the  use  of  scholars. 
He  set  about  the  task  with  great  alacrity,  as  it  was  one 
that  promised  to  be  both  agreeable  and  advantageous 
to  him,  but  his  other  occupations  did  not  allow  him  long 
to  pursue  it.  A  gentleman, —  himself  an  admirable 
scholar,  —  saw  the  sketch  of  the  plan  of  this  work  on 
his  table  one  day,  and  expressed  great  surprise  when 
he  learned  that  Robert  had  made  it  without  referring  to 
any  historical  works.  This  instance  will  suffice  to  show 
that  for  one  so  young  he  was  remarkably  well-read  in 
history,  and  that  his  memory  was  excellent.  At  the 
same  time  we  must  add,  that  so  far  was  this  faculty 
from  being  mechanical,  that  it  was  difficult  for  him  to 


96  MEMOIR  OF 

commit  a  page  to  memory  literally,  though  he  could 
retain  the  sense  of  every  sentence  on  it  and  give  it 
in  the  connection  in  which  it  stood.  It  was  his  darling 
scheme  to  devote  himself  to  some  great  historical  work 
which  would  confer  on  him  a  lasting  reputation  ;  but  in 
this,  as  in  all  his  earthly  hopes,  it  was  his  lot  to  be 
disappointed.  Indeed,  his  health  and  strength  never 
sufficed  to  perform  one  half  the  work  he  planned  for 
himself,  and  would  so  gladly  have  executed. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  the  winter  vacation  of  1850, 
that,  his  studies  at  the  Law  School  being  completed,  he 
determined  upon  entering  a  lawyer's  office  in  Boston. 
He  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  admitted  into  that 
of  Messrs.  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr.  and  F.  E.  Parker,  for  whom 
he  felt  the  highest  respect,  and  whose  influence 
on  him  was  excellent.  He  had  sometimes  doubted 
whether  he  had  any  talent  for  the  bar,  but  these  gen- 
tlemen convinced  him  that  it  was  only  the  practical 
familiarity  with  business  that  he  wanted.  He  had 
dreaded  that,  in  the  active  pursuit  of  the  legal  profes- 
sion, he  would  be  compelled  to  abandon  much  that  was 
of  great  interest  to  him,  —  history,  European  politics, 
6ic., —  but  they  showed  him  that  his  familiarity  with 
modern  languages,  and  general  information  respecting 
Europe,  might  be  of  service  to  him,  and  he  learned 
from  their  own  example  that  a  close  attention  to  the 
details  of  a  lawyer's  profession  was  not  incompatible 
with  taste  and  cultivation.  They  satisfied  him,  too,  on 
another  point,  and  that  to  him  the  most  important  of 
all,  —  that  it  was  possible  to  be  very  successful  at  the 
bar  without  ceasing  to  be  stricdy  honorable  and  con- 
scientious.    His  spirits  rose,  his  views  of  life  became 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  97 

more  cheerful,  his  personal  hopes  brighter ;  he  felt 
that  he  was  rapidly  acquiring  the  practical  knowledge 
in  which  he  had  previously  been  deficient,  and  that  he 
was  deriving  constant  instruction  as  well  as  enjoyment 
from  the  society  of  Mr.  Dana  and  Mr.  Parker,  and  was 
encouraged  by  the  deep  interest  they  took  in  his  suc- 
cess. While  at  the  Law  School  he  had  formed  an 
intimacy  with  two  gentlemen  of  his  own  age,  to  whom 
he  became  warmly  attached,,  and  as  their  offices 
were  in  the  same  building  with  those  in  which  he  was 
studying,  he  saw  them  daily.  In  their  friendship  and 
sympathy  he  found  the  greatest  pleasure,  so  that,  on 
the  whole,  the  year  passed  in  the  office  of  Messrs. 
Dana  and  Parker  may  be  considered  as  the  happiest 
he  knew  after  leaving  Europe. 

The  inconvenience  of  going  from  Cambridge  to 
Boston,  and  the  time  he  would  have  lost  by  doing  so, 
led  him  during  the  four  years  he  passed  there  to 
decline  almost  all  the  invitations  he  received  to  large 
parties,  and  the  reserve  natural  to  him  preventing  him 
from  visiting  much  socially,  many  of  his  evenings  were 
passed  alone  in  his  room.  Yet  he  was  far  from  being, 
unsocial.  During  the  last  year  he  was  in,  Paris,  he 
went  frequently  with  his  father  to  the  weekly  recep^ 
lions  of  some  friends,  and  derived  much  pleasure  from 
the  conversation  of  the  persons  he  met  there  j  and  had 
he  lived  under  the  same  roof  with  his  mother  and 
sisters  here,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  gone  more 
into  society.  At  their  entreaty  he  often  promised  to  do 
so,  but,  as  he  himself  said,  his  good  resolutions  in  this 
respect  were  again  and  again  broken.  There  was  one 
7 


"98  MEMOIR    OF 

house,  however,  at  which,  during  the  last  two  years  of 
his  life,  much  of  his  leisure  time  was  spent.  The  want 
of  a  '  home,'  so  often  alluded  to  in  his  letters  and  felt 
so  keenly  by  him,  was  compensated,  as  far  as  it  could 
be,  by  the  cordial  and  affectionate  welcome  he  always 
received  from  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Felton,  who  consid- 
ered hirh,  to  use  his  own  expression,  *  V enfant  de  la 
maison.'  The  letter  from  Prof  Felton,  at  the  end  of 
this  Memoir,  will  show  how  much  he  was  beloved  and 
how  deeply  mourned  by  the  whole  family.  • 

<  Cambridge,  Much  Sth,  1850. 

*  My  dear  M , 

*  Even  had  I  not  received  a  letter  from  you  last 
evening  I  should  have  written  to  you  this  morning.  It 
is  not  well  to  give  up  old  traditions,  particularly  when 
they  are  good.  I  need  not  assure  you  of  my  affection. 
I  Only  write  that  you  may  know  I  have  thought  of  you. 
Here  I  am  again  in  Cambridge,  but  under  different  cir- 
cumstances. I  am  about  entering  the  office  of  Messrs. 
Dana  and  Parker  as  a  law  student,  where  I  think  there 

is  every  reason  why  I  should  be  contented 

Since  my  return  I  have  been  occupied  in  arranging 
papers,  and  am  determined  to  publish  the  life  and 
correspondence  of  our  dear  father.  I  must  do  it  at 
my  leisure,  as  it  must  be  well  done.     There  is  a  great 

•  He  had  not  relinquished  his  connection  with  Harvard 
University  on  leaving  the  Law  School,  and  continued  to  the 
last  to  take  a  heartfelt  interest  in  the  progress  of  his  pupils, 
who  evinced  their  sense  of  it  by  their  respect  and  attention 
while  he  lived,  and  by  the  spontaneous  tribute  of  afTection  and 
regret  they  paid  to  his  memory. 


KOBEET   WHEATON.  99 

charm  in  reading  over  these  old  letters ;  they  carry 
me  back  to  other  times,  and  I  seem  nearer  to  him 
whom  we  so  deeply  mourn.  They  give  me  a  higher 
idea,  if  possible  than  before,  of  that  clear  and  profound 
intellect,  and  of  the  noble  character  which  wanted 
little  of  being  perfect.' 

'  Boston,  March  14th,  1850. 

'  Dearest  Mother, 
'  Here  I  am  in  an  office,  and  extremely  busy  what 
with  writing  and  copying.  I  am  delighted  at  having 
made  this  change  ;  it  will  be  of  the  greatest  advantage 
to  me  to  see  how  business  is  done.  1  shall  also  make 
new  and  useful  acquaintances,  and  lead  a  more  active 
life  than  I  have  done  heretofore.  My  scheme  of  walk- 
ing in  and  out  has  been  most  unfortunately  defeated  by 
the  state  of  the  weather,  which  has  been  terrible  of 

late I  need  not  tell  you  how  much  my 

thoughts  have  been  with  you  this  week.  I  believe, 
however,  that  we  are  now  all  of  us  free  from  any 
selfish  feeling  at  the  recollection  of  his  and  our  suffer- 
ing. When  such  is  the  case,  such  anniversaries  have 
rather  a  soothing  than  a  depressing  influence.'    .     .     . 

'  Boston,  March,  1850. 

'  Dear  A , 

'  I  have  just  read  in  the  omnibus  a  little  pamphlet  on 
"  Atheism  in  France,"  translated  from  Lamartine's 
"  Conseiller  du  Peuple.^''  There  is  some  vagueness  as 
to  the  religion  he  would  wish  to  establish,  but  with  that 
exception  it  is  an  eloquent  tirade  against  Socialism, 
Communism,  &c.     He  predicts, —  and  it  is  not  neces- 


190  MEMOIR   OF 

sary  to  be  a  prophet  to  do  so,  —  that  without  some 
change  in  religious  matters,  the  Republic  must  perish 
in  France.  I  have  the  ninth  volume  of  Thiers  for  you, 
and  will  bring  it  you  soon.  He  says :  "  I  am  not,  and 
never  have  been  the  flatterer  of  the  populace,  although 
condemned  to  live  at  a  time  when  it  rules."  You  see 
that  he  has  the  same  courage  as  ever,  and  as  little  love 
for  the  Republic' 

'  Boston,  April  Sth,  1E50. 

♦  Dearest  Mother, 

*  I  have  only  time  to  write  a  line  in  reply  to  your 
last  letter  on  the  subject  of  business.  .  .  .  Would 
to  God  that  I  could  do  something  myself  for  you  all 
whom  I  love  so  dearly.  Alas !  I  cannot,  and  must  con- 
tent myself  for  the  present  with  maintaining  myself 
without  being  of  any  expense  to  any  one,  and  without 
touching  the  small  allowance  which  you  have.  Better 
times  will  come,  I  feel  confident,  and  I  trust  before 
long.  It  grieves  me  to  the  verj'  heart  and  poisons  all 
my  happiness  to  know  you  to  be  unhappy.  But  enough 
of  this.'     .... 

'  May,  1850. 

*  Dear  A , 

'  I  passed  this  morning  with  Mr.  J.  F.,  on  board  the 
steamship  America.  It  was  so  long  since  I  had  been 
on  the  sea,  that  it  gave  me  great  pleasure.     1  confess 

that  I  was  reluctant  to  go  ashore  again 1 

am  glad  to  hear  of  your  saccess  in  drawing.  So  agree- 
able an  employment  cannot  fail  to  make  your  time 
pass  pleasantly.     As  for  me,  I  am  not  doing  much  in 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  101 

the  way  of  music,  which  is  my  art.      I   am   always 
hoarse,  though   I  cough  less.     I   play  a  little   every 


The  interest  Robert  had  now  begun  to  take  in  the 
law,  is  shown  by  the  half-playful  account  he  gives  in 
the  following  letter,  of  his  first  appearance  in  Court : 

'June  19th,  1850. 

'  I  beg  your   pardon,  dear  A ,  for  not   having 

written  you  for  so  long  a  time ;  but  it  has  been  so 
warm,  and  I  have  been  so  much  occupied  with  my 
first  cause,  which  I  pleaded  yesterday,  that  I  was  not 
disposed  to  write.  Mr.  C.  has  returned  to  Cambridge, 
that  is  the  only  change  in  my  life  there.  In  Boston,  as 
you  see,  I  have  become  quite  a  man  of  business.  I 
succeeded  in  having  my  first  client  acquitted  of  a  part 
of  the  accusation  against  her,  so  that  she  was  only  sen- 
tenced to  a  small  fine.  This  is  fortunate,  as  she  has 
been  five  weeks  in  prison.  Mr.  Parker  was  in  New 
York,  and  regrets  very  much  not  having  been  present 
at  my  debut.  I  consider  it  quite  a  step  to  have 
appeared  in  public  as  a  lawyer. 

'  I  have  just  read  Guizot's  hrocJiure  on  the  English 
Revolution,  and  will  bring  it  the  first  time  I  come  to 
Providence.  What  an  admirable  writer  !  How  much 
simplicity,  eloquence  and  strength.  He  never  seeks 
for  effect  as  some  writers  do.  Did  you  read  the  speech 
he  made  a  short  time  since  before  the  Biblical  Society 
of  Paris  ?  If  he  had  done  differently,  things  would, 
perhaps,  not  be  where  they  now  are.  He  might,  per- 
haps, have  sowed   good   Protestant  seed  on  that  soil 


102  MEMOIR   OF 

composed  of  indifference  and  incredulity.  I  am  not 
yet  cured  of  my  early  ideas.  France  can  only  be 
saved  by  Protestantism,  and  that  is  the  only  point  of 
view  in  which  the  Republic  seems  desirable.  With  a 
king,  France  will  always  have  a  Catholic  tendency, — 
it  matters  little  whether  his  name  be  Henry  V.  or  Louis 
Napoleon.' 

In  August  of  this  year,  he  and  his  sisters  spent  a 
fortnight  in  New  Haven,  while  the  Scientific  Congress 
was  assembled  there.  It  was  the  only  visit  of  any 
length  that  they  had  ever  made  with  Robert,  and  it  is 
impossible  to  imagine  how  much  being  together  added 
to  the  pleasure  they  all  derived  from  it. .  Dr.  Welles, 
at  whose  house  they  were,  took  a  warm  interest  in 
Robert,  expressed  some  anxiety  about  his  health,  and 
urged  upon  him  the  necessity  of  taking  more  exercise. 
He  especially  recommended  riding.  Of  this  exercise, 
as  we  have  before  said,  Robert  was  very  fond  ;  but 
want  of  time,  and  even  more  the  expense  of  keeping 
a  horse,  prevented  him  after  he  left  Paris  from  follow- 
ing his  taste.  On  his  return  from  New  Haven,  how- 
ever, he  rode  frequently  in  obedience  to  Dr.  Welles' 
advice,  and  seemed  to  derive  benefit  from  the  exercise, 
but  the  cold  weather  at  the  close  of  the  autumn  pre- 
vented him  from  continuing  it.  In  October,  he  writes 
thus: 

'  My  dear  A , 

*  I  have  been  riding  about  the  country  for  the  last 
two  days.  Yesterday  I  dined  at  Milton,  and  to-day  I 
stopped  at  Brookline  to  dinner.     The  country  is  beau- 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  103 

tiful  now,  and  I  think  my  rides  have  done  me  good ; 
at  least  Mr.  P.  says  I  look  better  to-day.     Although 

I  still  cough,  my  cold  is  really  better I 

have  become  once  more  a  philosopher  as  little  Arthur 
Healy  *  used  to  say,  —  that  is,  I  am  reading  philosoph- 
ical books  at  present.  I  am  now  reading  another  work 
of  Morell's,  entitled  History  of  Philosophy  in  the  Nine- 
teenth Century.  I  intend  to  pursue  these  studies,  and 
read  Kant's  Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft.  These 
studies  interested  me  greatly  formerly,  but  of  late  1 
have  neglected  them.  The  truth  is,  I  find  very  little 
time  for  them. 

'  I  was  a  great  deal  with  Mr.  Dana  during  Mr. 
Parker's  absence  ;  he  is  very  fond  of  conversation, 
and,  when  we  had  nothing  else  to  do,  we  talked 
a  great  deal.  I  hope  mother  will  not  be  prevented 
from  coining  to  Milton.  I  shall  have  so  much  pleasure 
in  showing  her  Cambridge  and  my  bachelor's  estab- 
lishment  I  trust  the  day  will  come  when 

we  shall  be  once  more  united,  and  not  obliged  to  say 
in  writing  how  much  we  love  each  other.'     .     .     .       • 

'  October  21st,  1850. 

*  Dearest  Mother, 

*  I  am  grieved  to  find  that  in  spite  of  my  assurances 

•  The  son  of  Mr.  H.  the  artist,  a  remarkably  fine  and  intel- 
ligent child,  whom  his  parents  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  two 
years  since.  R.,  who  was  extremely  fond  of  children,  and 
whose  gentle  manners  made  him  very  attractive  to  them,  liked 
to  play  with  this  little  boy.  It  was  while  he  was  at  M.  Barb 
Massin's  school,  and  much  engrossed  by  his  philosophical 
studies,  that  the  child  learnt  to  call  him  jphilosophe. 


104  MEMOIR   OF 

that  my  cold  is  much  better,  you  should  still  be  so 
anxious  about  me.  I  trust,  however,  that  when  I  tell 
you  I  have  just  returned  from  VVatcrtown,  where  I  sang 
three  cavatinas  and  five  duetts,  you  will  believe  me 

when  I  say  that  my  cough  is  not  very  bad 

Regarding  your  proposed  arrangements,  I  need  not  say 
that  whatever  will  make  you  most  comfortable  will 
ever  be  my  most  ardent  wish.  Why  cannot  you  come 
here  and  make  me  a  visit  of  a  few  days  ?  A  change 
of  air  and  scene,  of  however  short  duration,  will,  I  am 
sure,  be  beneficial  to  you.  I  cannot  offer  you  much, 
excepting  my  company  during  my  leisure  moments. 
Just  muster  up  a  little  courage  and  come  down  Thurs- 
day.' 

'  December  Ist,  1850. 

*  Dearest  Mother, 
'  You  will  be  happy  to  learn  that  I  am  scarcely  at  all 
troubled  with  my  cough.  I  have  not  seen  the  doctor 
once  since  Saturday.  You  see  I  consider  myself  off 
the  sick  list.  I  continue,  however,  to  obey  his  advice 
and  expose  myself  as  little  as  possible.  The  only 
thing  which  annoys  me  now  is  a  hoarseness,  which 
prevents  me  from  reading  much  aloud  or  singing.  I 
suppose  time  or  a  change  of  air  will  be  the  best  reme- 
dies for  this.  If  I  can  possibly  do  so,  I  shall  go.  South 
during  the  vacation.     Mr.   P.,  whom  I  consider   my 

moral  physician,  advises  it  by  all  means 

His  plan  for  me  is  no  doubt  the  best  one :  To  go  to 
Washington  during  the  vacation,  see  as  much  as  1  can 
of  society  of  every  description,  and  then  return  in  good 
spirits  to  devote  myself  to  the  law,  sans  arriere  peri' 


ROBERT   WHEA.TON.  J(^ 

see As  usual,  my  little  note  is  all  taken 

up  with  myself.  Am  I  not  very  selfish  when  my  situa- 
tion is  so  much  more  pleasant  than  yours  ?  You  must 
bear  with  me,  however,  as  I  am  the  spoiled  child  of  the 
family,  and  likely  to  continue  so.  How  this  fine  scheme 
of  spending  my  vacation  in  amusing  myself  is  to  be 
carried  out,  I  do  not  know.'     .... 

•  December  11th,  1850. 

'  Dearest  Mother, 

'  You  will  not  receive  this  little  note  on  your  birth- 
day, but  it  will  show  you  that  I  have  not  forgotten  the 
day,  if  such  assurance  you  needed.  I  got  your  letter 
yesterday  ;  it  was  very  welcome.  It  is  so  rare  for  you 
to  write  a  whole  letter,  that  it  is  the  more  appreciated 
when  you  do.  My  cough  continues  still  the  same, 
though  I  follow  the  doctor's  prescription,  and  do  not  go 
out  in  the  evening. 

'  I  have  not  yet  set  about  writing  anything.  I  am 
still  surrounded  with  books  on  French  histoiy,  and  have 
three  articles  commenced  :  one  on  Chateaubriand,  one 
on  Thiers,  and  one  on  the  Conversion  of  the  Germans 
to  Christianity.  But  I  merely  wrote  to  assure  you  of 
my  affection,  and  to  wish  you  many  tranquil  returns  of 
this  day.  That  another  year  may  find  us  more  happily 
situated  than  at  present,  is  my  ardent  wish  ;  but  let  us 
not  complain,  for  alas  !  who  knows  what  another  year 
may  bring  forth  .? ' 

« December  30th,  1850. 

'  Dearest  Mother, 
*  Nothing  wonderful  has  occurred  since  I  last  wrote. 
Mr.  P.    still   insists   on   my   going   away   during   the 


106  MEMOIR    OF 

vacation.  He  says,  very  wisely,  that  I  am  either  well 
or  not  well.  If  the  former,  I  should  spend  the  vaca- 
tion in  Boston,  and  there  attend  the  office.  If  the  latter, 
I  should  travel.  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind  what 
to  do.  If  I  could,  there  probably  would  be  no  occasion 
for  my  doing  anything.  .  .  .  One  moment  I  think 
I  will  go  off  South,  and  the  next  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  not 
to  do  it.' 

<  Boston,  January  Sd,  1851. 

*  My  dear  A , 

'  Your  letter  which  I  received  this  morning  gave  me 
great  pleasure.  I  thank  you  for  your  interest,  of  which 
I  have  scarcely  shown  myself  worthy  with  all  my  com- 
plaints. You  are  right ;  I  am  sad,  deeply  sad,  and  for 
the  reasons  you  enumerate  :  want  of  money,  the  pain 
of  your  position,  fatigue,  and  I  believe,  also,  the  state 
of  my  health,  which  docs  not  allow  me  to  look  with  an 
indifferent  eye  on  all  the  sorrows  and  disappointments 
of  life.  In  my  present  state,  to  travel  would  be  of 
service  to  me;  indeed,  I  have  come  to  consider  it 
as  absolutely  necessary.  Mr.  P.  who  interests 
himself  in  me,  suggests  that  I  should  go  to  Havana, 
Charleston,  or  the  Mediterranean.    I  do  not  know  what 

to  decide What  do  you  advise  }    It  seems 

to  me  that  it  is  my  duty  to  endeavor  de  me  retremper 
un  peu,  —  to  endeavor  to  gain  strength  morally  and 
physically,  and  then  to  return  to  work,  without  which  I 
can  never  be  happy.  Do  not  be  troubled  at  all  I  have 
now  said.  I  have  replied  categorically  to  your  letter, 
and  I  hope  you  will  give  me  credit  for  not  destroying 
this  letter  now  it  is  finished.     Whatever  resolution  I 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  107 

take  with  regard  to  the  vacation,  I  shall  come  and  see 
you  next  week.' 

It  may  be  imagined  from  the  tenor  of  this  letter,  how 
much  anxiety  his  family  must  have  felt  at  the  time,  and 
how  great  was  their  relief  when  they  found  that  he  had 
decided  to  go  to  the  South  for  a  few  weeks,  although 
this  determination  deprived  them  of  the  pleasure  of  his 
society  during  the  vacation.  He  set  out  for  Philadel- 
phia towards  the  end  of  January,  intending  to  pass  a 
few  days  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Willing,  in  that 
city.  But  a  sudden  indisposition  detained  him  there 
for  a  month.  When  a  child  he  had,  —  after  suffering 
during  the  summer  from  the  aguean  fever,  a  common 
malady  in  the  damp  climate  of  Denmark,  —  been 
severely  attacked  by  rheumatism  in  the  feet  and  legs, 
and  although  for  many  years  he  had  felt  no  return  of 
it,  the  attack  he  had  in  Philadelphia  was  very  similar. 
He  received  the  most  tender  care  and  attention  from 
the  friends  at  whose  house  he  was,  as  well  as  from  his 
uncle.  Dr.  Walter  V.  Wheaton,  U.  S.  A.,  and  was  not 
allowed  by  them  to  leave  until  quite  recovered.  When 
again  able  to  travel,  he  proceeded  to  Baltimore,  Wash- 
ington and  Charleston,  stopping  several  days  in  each  of 
these  cities,  all  of  which  were  new  to  him.  He  had 
always  enjoyed  travelling,  and  as  his  health  improved 
his  spirits  rose,  and  the  tone  of  his  letters  was  unusually 
cheerful  and  sprightly.  His  friends  at  Cambridge,  un- 
willing that  he  should  return  there  before  the  weather 
had  become  mild  and  settled,  kindly  obtained  permis- 
sion for  him  to  protract  his  absence  after  the  college 
term  had  commenced,  and  one  of  his  friends,  although 


108  MEMOIR    OF 

engaged  in  the  profession  of  the  law  in  Boston,  had  the 
kindness  to  supply  his  place  as  French  instructor,  until 
his  return.  In  May  he  arrived  in  Providence,  and  those 
who  loved  him  felt  the  most  entire  satisfaction  at  the 
evident  improvement  in  his  health,  and  at  the  cheerful- 
ness with  which  he  resumed  his  active  duties.  In  July 
he  was  admitted  to  the  Boston  Bar,  and  writes  thus  to 
his  mother  on  the  occasion : 

'Boston,  July  11th,  1851. 

*  Dearest  Mother, 

'  You  will  be  as  much  astonished  as  I  am  at  the 
enclosed  card.  The  whole  thing  has  been  done  up  in 
such  an  incredibly  short  time,  that  I  can  hardly  realize 
I  am  indeed  a  Counsellor  and  Attorney.' 

After  relating  the  circumstances  attending  his  en» 
trance  into  business,  he  contiuues : 

*I  have,  as  usual,  in  everything  that  regards  my 
prospects  in  life,  only  to  congratulate  myself  on  the 
warm  friends  I  have.  The  only  thing  I  regret  about 
the  arrangement  is,  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  spend  as 
much  of  my  time  with  you  this  summer  as  I  had  in- 
tended. I  feel  quite  happy,  I  assure  you,  at  this  sudden 
immersion  into  the  profession.  I  call  it  an  immersion, 
for  it  is  very  like  a  cold  bath  in  the  river.  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  happy  to  know  that  I  am  at  last  fairly 
started  on  the  business  of  life.' 

During  the  summer  he  continued  to  come  frequently 
to  Providence  to  see  his  family,  and  Sunday  being  his 
only  leisure  day,  he  generally  came  on  Saturday  even- 
ing, and  returned  to  Boston  on  Monday  morning. 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  109 

What  words  can  describe  the  happiness  of  those 
brief  visits,  the  interest  with  which  the  arrival  of  the 
cars  was  watched,  the  delight  with  which  the  sound  of 
his  quick  step  was  welcomed  ;  for,  slow  and  dignifiea  as 
were  his  habitual  movements,  he  always  bounded  up 
those  stairs !     .     .     .     . 

In  August  his  grandfather  died.  Dr.  Wheaton  was 
a  man  of  strong  and  cultivated  intellect,  and  had  re- 
tained his  faculties  unimpaired  to  the  advanced  age  of 
ninety.  His  illness  was  a  short  one,  he  retained  his 
senses  to  the  last  moment  of  his  life,  and  passed  away 
without  a  struggle.  A  short  notice  of  him,  written  by 
Robert,  appeared  in  the  Providence  Journal,  and  will 
be  found  at  the  end  of  this  volume. 

As  Mrs.  Wheaton  had  remained  in  Providence  solely 
to  smooth  her  father's  declining  years,  she,  of  course, 
now  determined  to  leave  that  place  and  establish  her- 
self in  Cambridge,  in  order  to  be  near  her  son.  About 
this  time  his  friends  in  Boston,  who  watched  him  from 
day  to  day,  feeling  renewed  fears  concerning  him,  had 
suggested  a  plan  which  would  enable  him  to  spend 
some  time  abroad,  in  order  that  he  might  avoid  the 
severity  of  a  New  England  winter.  But  his  grand- 
father's death  interrupted  this  plan,  as  he  could  not 
think  of  leaving  his  mother  and  sisters  at  such  a 
moment,  although  he  felt  an  evident  desire  to  revisit 
Europe  and  renovate  both  mind  and  body.  He  even 
said  to  his  sisters,  '  If  you  were  all  settled  in  a  com- 
fortable home  of  your  own,  I  think  I  might  go.' 

On  Saturday,  September  27th,  Robert  came  to  Prov- 
idence as  usual,  to  pass  the  Sunday  with  his  family. 
The  cars  were  thrown  off  the  track,  and  the  train  did 


110  MEMOIR    OF 

not  arrive  until  late  in  the  evening.  The  weather 
being  damp,  he  took  cold.  On  Sunday,  although  he 
re£^  aloud  for  some  time,  as  was  his  habit  when  with 
his^other,  and  even  went  out  to  tea,  he  complained  of 
feeling  languid  and  rheumatic,  and  retired  to  rest  at  an 
early  hour,  saying  he  should  not  leave  the  next  day 
before  the  eleven  o'clock  train. 

On  Monday  he  was  unable  to  sit  up,  but  supposing 
his  indisposition  nothing  but  a  severe  cold,  his  family 
felt  no  real  uneasiness,  merely  regretting  that  he  should 
be  detained,  as  he  seemed  to  attach  so  much  importance 
to  the  regular  discharge  of  his  duties.  During  the  suc- 
ceeding days  he  suflered  intense  pain  in  the  head,  and 
was  bled  twice,  but  without  experiencing  much  relief. 
Still,  although  weak,  feverish,  and  exhausted,  he  con- 
tinued to  express  an  interest  in  all  around  him,  asked 
to  have  the  papers  read  to  him,  and  dictated  notes 
to  his  intimate  friends  concerning  his  office  and  his 
French  class.  In  the  night  of  the  6th  of  October,  a 
sudden  and  alarming  change  took  place.  From  that 
time  he  had  but  brief  intervals  of  consciousness,  but 
his  thoughts,  when  they  wandered,  were  all  directed  to 
that  which  had  chiefly  occupied  him  during  health,  — 
the  wish  to  see  his  mother  and  sisters  in  a  comfortable 
and  pleasant  home,  the  progress  of  his  pupils  at  Cam- 
bridge, the  state  of  France,  where  so  many  happy 
days  of  his  short  life  had  been  spent 

But  why  linger  over  hours,  the  remembrance  of 
which  wrings  the  heart  of  those  who  loved  him  so  ten- 
derly ?  .  .  .  .  All  that  medical  aid  could  do  was 
done  for  him  ;  he  was  attended  by  Dr.  Miller  and  Dr. 
Mauran,  two  of  the  most  skilful  and  experienced  phy- 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  Ill 

sicians  in  that  city,  and  by  his  cousin,  Dr.  Rivers,  who 
never  left  him  night  or  day.  But  all  their  efforts  were 
vain  to  conquer  the  disease, —  pronounced  by  them  a 
rheumatic  fever. 

If  the  foregoing  pages  have  given  any  idea  of  what 
he  was,  the  agony  felt  by  his  family  when  all  hope  for 
this  world  was  over,  may  be  imagined,  —  if  not,  no 
words  can  describe  it. 

On  the  9th  of  October,  1851,  four  days  after  he  had 
attained  his  twenty-fifth  year,  Robert  died.  His  last 
words  were  characteristic  of  his  life  and  faith. 

'  Mother  ! '  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  rousing  from  the 
state  of  apathy  in  which  for  some  hours  previous  he 
had  lain,  '  Mother,  read  the  prayer ! ' 

The  voice,  the  accent,  can  never  be  forgotten  by 
those  who  heard  them. 

We  cannot  close  this  Memoir  without  mentioning  the 
general  and  heartfelt  regret  his  death  occasioned.  It 
has  seldom  fallen  to  the  lot  of  so  young  a  man  to  have 
inspired  so  much  esteem  —  we  may  add  —  so  much 
admiration.  As  soon  as  it  became  known  that  he  was 
ill,  his  friends  in  Boston  and  Cambridge  came  in 
person  or  wrote  to  inquire  in  what  way  they  could 
serve  him,  and  there  was  no  exertion  they  were  not 
willing  to  make  for  him.  In  Providence,  although  he 
had  lived  there  less,  the  same  interest  was  evinced. 
The  reputation  of  his  father,  his  personal  worth,  and 
the  general  conviction  that  the  happiness  of  his  family 
was  completely  bound  up  in  him,  combined  to  make 
all  who  knew  him  anxious  that  he  should  be  spared, 
and  many  were  the  prayers  offered  up  for  his  life. 


112  MEMOIR  OF 

There  was  a  charm  about  him  which  won  even  those 
who  had  seen  him  but  casually,  and  caused  persons 
of  all  ages,  and  of  all  classes  of  society,  to  share  in 
the  anxiety  felt  as  to  the  result  of  his  illness  and  in 
the  overwhelming  sorrow  his  early  death  occasioned. 
The  finished  education  he  had  received,  his  moral  and 
intellectual  qualities,  had  raised  the  highest  expecta- 
tions ;  the  son  of  a  distinguished  man,  it  was  hoped 
that  he  would  be  equally  distinguished  —  but  a  few 
short  days  sufficed  to  blight  the  hopes  so  fondly  enter- 
tained, and  to  leave  a  void  which  no  earthly  consolation 
can  ever  fill ! 

At  the  earnest  request  of  his  friends,  it  was  deter- 
mined that  his  funeral  should  not  be  private.  At  a 
meeting  of  the  students  of  Cambridge,  called  by  their 
own  impulse,  they  asked  permission  of  the  Faculty  to 
attend  the  funeral.  Special  leave  was  given,  and  a 
delegation  of  ten  from  each  of  the  classes  went  to 
Providence  and  joined  in  the  services,  and  followed  his 
body  to  the  tomb.  His  older  friends  desired  to  perform 
a  last  act  of  respect,  and  from  among  their  number  the 
pall  was  borne  by  Professors  Longfellow,  Felton,  and 
Agassiz,  of  Cambridge;  Richard  H.  Dana,  Jr.,  of  Bos- 
ton ;  George  William  Curtis,  of  New  York ;  and  Messrs. 
Henry  Anthony,  Thomas  Hoppin  and  Thomas  P. 
Shepard,  of  Providence. 

He  was  borne  to  the  tomb,  to  which  a  few  weeks 
before  his  grandfather,  and  a  few  years  before  his 
father  had  been  laid  by  this  often  afflicted  family  ;  and 
the  dull,  cold  rain  of  the  evening  was  but  too  consonant 
with  the  feelings  of  those  who  survived  the  husband,  the 
grandfather,  the  only  son  and  the  only  brother. 


ROBERT    WIIEATON.  113 

From  among  the  notices  which  appeared  of  Robert 
Wheaton  in  the  public  press  of  Boston  and  New  York, 
the  following  is  selected,  —  taken  from  the  New  York 
Evening  Post,  —  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  one  of 
whom  it  may  be  truly  said, 

'  He  had  kept 
The  whiteness  of  his  soul,  and  thus  men  o'er  him  wept.' 

*  The  funeral  of  Robert  Wheaton  took  place  on 
Monday  last.  It  was  a  tribute  of  affection  and  respect 
such  as  few  men  so  young  have  ever  won  by  the  simple 
force  of  character.  Mr.  Wheaton  was,  as  yet,  too 
young  to  have  made  his  name  coldly  honored  for  itself, 
but  he  was  old  enough  to  have  knit  to  himself,  in  the 
most  manly  regard,  by  the  beauty  and  grace  of  his 
character,  and  by  the  variety  and  extent  of  his  accom- 
plishments, a  troop  of  friends  among  those  men  of 
genius  and  of  the  profoundest  attainments  in  every 
kind,  among  whom  the  chances  of  life  had  thrown 
him. 

'  All  those  men  felt,  and  those  who  knew  him  best 
felt  most  strongly,  the  singular  promise  of  his  powers. 
To  his  brilliant  and  successful  career,  to  the  worthy 
wearing  of  the  paternal  mantle,  they  looked  forward 
with  entire  conviction,  and,  as  friends,  with  sympathetic 
pride.  It  was  not  to  be.  Through  the  golden  gate  of 
worldly  success,  which  seemed,  to  their  eyes,  to  be 
opening  before  him,  he  was  not  to  pass.  The  sad  light 
of  his  eye  was,  perhaps,  prophetic.  That  rare  matu- 
rity, that  sweet  gravity,  were  pledges  that  we  did  not 
understand.  Charmed  with  the  promise,  we  forgot  that 
whom  the  Gods  love  die  young. 


114  MEMOIR    OF 

'  Those  friends  who  were,  of  all  men  in  the  coun- 
try, probably,  most  fitted  to  appreciate,  by  understand- 
ing, his  value,  came  on  Monday  to  perform  the  last 
service  of  friendship.  Mr.  Longfellow,  Professor  Agas- 
siz  and  Professor  Felton,  who  were  all  his  associate 
teachers  in  the  University  at  Cambridge,  united  with 
Richard  H.  Dana,  Jr.,  under  whose  direction  Mr. 
Wheaton  had  pursued  his  legal  studies,  and  with  hon- 
oring and  sympathizing  townsmen,  in  bearing  the  pall. 
From  each  class  in  the  University  with  which  Mr. 
Wheaton  was  connected,  a  representation  of  ten  at- 
tended the  last  offices,  with  many  of  those  personal  and 
particular  friends  whom  he  had  gathered  around  him 
in  the  city  of  his  adoption. 

*  They  came  to  honor  in  the  dead  that  which  alone 
is  permanently  honorable  in  the  living,  the  lofty  but 
gracious  character,  and  the  admirable  employment  of 
peculiar  powers,  which  distinguished  Robert  Wheaton. 

'  It  was  a  weeping  autumnal  day,  no  unmeet  symbol 
of  the  feelings  that  hallowed  the  event.  At  the  house 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Hall,  and  at  the  tomb  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Crocker,  breathed  over  the  departed  the  words  the 
Great  Consoler  spake.  That  they  may  console,  that 
serene  faith  may  scatter  the  sorrow  in  those  hearts 
which  have  the  best  right  to  grieve,  even  as  the  setting 
sun  at  evening  dispersed  the  clouds  which  had  wept  all 
day,  is  the  abiding  wish  even  of  those  who  cannot  but 
say,— 

"  The  good  die  first, 
And  those  whose  hearts  are  dry  as  summer's  dust, 
Burn  to  the  socket." ' 

On  the  Sunday  following  his  death,  the  Rev.  Dr. 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  115 

Hall,  of  Providence,  the  clergyman  and  friend  of  his 
family,  preached  a  sermon  from  the  words,  *  For  now 
we  see  through  a  glass  darkly,  but  then  face  to  face. 
Now  I  know  in  secret;  then  shall  I  know  even  as 
I  am  known,'  the  close  of  which  was  as  follows : 

'  He,  whose  beautiful  spirit  thus  early  and  calmly 
passed,  was  born  the  same  year  that  gave  birth  to 
Henry  Wheaton.  And  now,  there  lies  in  death  near 
us,  the  only  son  of  Henry  Wheaton,  a  young  man  of 
equal  promise,  of  equal  piety,  called  at  nearly  the 
same  age,  more  suddenly,  yet  seemingly  expecting  and 
ready.  It  is  an  event  which  may  well  suggest  such 
thoughts  as  these  which  I  have  offered, —  for  every  one 
who  speaks  of  it,  speaks  of  its  "  mysteriousness."  It 
is  mysterious,  startling,  silencing.  It  speaks  too  loudly 
and  solemnly  for  others  to  speak  much.  The  voice  of 
all  such  events  is,  "  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God." 
We  do  know  that,  and,  therefore,  are  not  wholly  igno- 
rant of  the  character  or  design  of  this  providence.  It 
is  not  all  mystery.  Death  is  a  teacher,  —  not  silent 
but  eloquent.  We  hear,  we  feel,  we  bow  and  trust. 
We  will  wait.  The  revelation  of  this  life  may  resolve 
the  problem  in  part;  the  future  will  resolve  it  alto- 
gether. The  removal  of  the  young  and  the  good  is 
inscrutable  —  but  less  dark,  far  less  melancholy  than 
the  death  of  the  unprepared.  To  see  the  opening 
minds,  the  fast-maturing,  rich  in  knowledge  and  virtue, 
loved  by  all,  and  leaned  upon  peculiarly  by  the  nearest 
and  the  endeared, —  to  see  such  depart,  and  leave  a 
sudden,  fathomless  void,  is  beyond  and  above  us.  None 
will  attempt  to  interpret  it  all.  Humbler,  wiser  and 
more  consolina:  is  it  to  wait  in  faith.     But  there  are 


116  MEMOIR    OF 

darker  events,  and  more  fearful  mysteries.  Rlesscd 
are  they  who  mourn  only  the  good,  for  they  arc  com- 
forted. Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord  ; 
for  the  gentle  and  struggling  spirit  may  pray,  even 
young,  to  rest  from  its  labors,  and  its  works,  though 
fearly  begim,  will  follow  it.  Its  task  is  finished.  The 
work  given  it  to  do,  it  has  done.  No  longer  does  it 
struggle,  no  longer  faint,  nor  fear  for  itself  or  the  loved 
ones  ;  for  it  sees  face  to  face  now,  and  knows  even  as 
it  is  known.' 

Among  the  earthly  consolations  to  the  afilicted,  no 
mean  place  is  to  be  given  to  those  testimonials  of 
respect  for  the  deceased  which  friendship  offers.  From 
these,  with  the  permission  of  their  writers,  we  make 
such  extracts  and  selections  as  may  aid  our  analysis  of 
his  character. 

'  The  cheerfulness  of  a  lawyer's  actual  life  had  a 
good  influence  over  him  ;  he  grew  much  more  inter- 
ested, and  applied  himself  with  energy  to  his  studies 
and  to  his  business.  He  worked  rapidly  and  earnestly, 
putting  his  whole  mind  on  the  task ;  and  soon  cleared 
his  way  through  legal  distinctions.  He  was  fitted  for 
the  law  by  the  acuteness  and  accuracy  of  his  mind. 
He  would  have  been  a  good  speaker,  too,  though  he 
always  said  that  he  should  not.  On  one  occasion, 
when  he  defended  a  person  charged  with  an  assault,  he 
told  me  that  he  was  surprised  by  the  ease  with  which 
he  addressed  the  jury.  Indeed,  he  wanted  no  faculty 
of  a  thorough  lawyer  ;  and  I  very  much  wished  him  to 
place  his  affections  upon  a  profession  that  would  have 
been  sure  to  reward  them.     But  his  habits  led  him  to 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  117 

prefer  a  literary  life  ;  and  he  often  speculated  on  the 

chance    of   his  leading  it It 

would  not  be  easy  to  describe  to  you  the  effect 
which  his  familiar  intercourse  had  upon  his  friends. 
His  manners  were  a  constant  charm.  They  were  quiet 
and  modest,  but  their  whole  tone  was  delightful,  and 
he  could  attract  or  distance  those  about  him  with  an 
ease  which  I  always  envied.  He  never  lost  this  gen- 
tleman-like manner  in  his  freest  moments.  His  use  of 
language  was  elegant,  very  nice  ;  but  not  more  nice 
than  his  thoughts.  This  delicacy,  both  of  intellect  and 
feeling  which  was  seen  in  his  use  of  words,  showed 
itself  more  beautifully  in  the  shades  of  deference  or 
affection  with  which  he  met  those  about  him.  His 
manner  was  not  the  same  to  any  two  persons ;  it 
changed  with  a  happy  instinct,  and  while  it  was  very 
simple,  was  full  of  variety.  His  peculiar  smile,  not 
easily  called  out ;  his  voice  which  he  seldom  raised, 
but  which  always  secured  silence ;  and  the  reserve 
which  I  fancy  only  his  best  friends  quite  overcame, 
were  fascinating  to  the  young  men  about  him.  .  . 
.  .  .  He  had  many  friends ;  he  analyzed  them 
and  knew  them  thoroughly.  Indeed,  in  his  quiet  life 
at  Cambridge,  he  meditated  quite  closely  enough  for 
his  happiness  on  human  life  and  men.  He  rendered 
unto  all  their  dues,  and  they  returned  him  their  full 
affection.  But  he  had  always  that  grace  which  comes 
from  a  warm  heart,  whose  impulses  he  watched,  per- 
haps too  carefully,  and  which  he  dreaded  almost  sensi- 
tively to  bestow  upon  any  person  not  quite  worthy.' 

The  following   tribute  is  even   the   more   valuable 


118  MEMOIR    OF 

from  its  having  been  confidential  to  another,  with  no 
thought  in  writing  it  of  its  reaching  the  family  of  the 
deceased. 


•Boston,  October  18th,  1853. 

'  My  dear  Madam, 

*  I  trust  you  will  not  consider  me  as  obtruding  the 
feeling  and  opinion  of  others  upon  you,  if  I  send  you 
the  following  extract  from  a  letter  I  received  from  my 
father : 

* "  I  took  up  the  paper  to-day,  and  without  having  any 
knowledge  of  Robert  Wheaton's  illness,  read  the  ac- 
count of  his  death.  It  came  with  a  shock  upon  me. 
Though  I  had  but  a  slight  acquaintance  with  him,  I  felt 
interested  in  him,  partly,  I  suppose,  on  account  of  his 
father,  but  quite  as  much  from  that  combination  of 
manliness  and  refinement  that  marked  his  chamcter. 
Mr.  Parker,  who  sal  opposite  to  him  in  the  office,  day 
after  day,  for  so  long  a  time,  must  feel  deeply  his 
sudden  death.  Then,  there  arc  his  mother  and  sisters 
left  alone.  They  must  have  lopked  up  to  him  as  their 
only  protector,  in  this  (of  late  to  them)  hard  world. 
They  must  have  had  high  hopes  and  an  honest  pride 
in  him.  And  these  are  taken  from  them  now.  In 
afflictions  of  such  a  nature,  however  heavy  they  may 
be,  is  it  not  true  that  almost  the  first  feeling  that  stirs 
the  heart  of  every  right-minded  man,  is  that  of  the 
goodness  and  love  of  God  ?  How  is  it  that  some  griefs 
could  be  borne  by  men  before  Christ  came  and  spoke 
to  us,  and  then  died  for  us  }  I  know  not  how.  IIow 
distinctly  Wheaton  is  now  standing  before  in<  — his 
form,  his  voice,  his  smile  !     I  never  think  of  death  as 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  119 

something  entire  in  itself.  Life  is  always  with  it,  if 
not  in  it,  to  me,  and  this  because  of  our  immortality. 
Is  it  not  so  ?     Amen  and  Amen  !  " 

'  Again,  in  a  note  I  had  from  him  to-day,  he  says  : 

*  "  I  do  not  wonder  at  his  being  so  present  to  you. 
There  was  something  morally  beautiful  in  Mr.  Whea- 
ton." 

*  With  the  greatest  regard,  I  am,  my  dear  Madam, 

*  Your  true  and  obedient  servant, 

'  Richard  H.  Dana,  Jr. 
'  Mrs.  Henry  Wheaton.' 

Soon  after  his  death,  excellent  daguerreotypes 
made  from  his  portrait  by  Healy  were  sent  to  some 
of  his  friends.  The  subjoined  letter  from  Mr.  Dana 
was  in  reference  to  this. 

'  Boston,  October  18th,  1851. 

*  My  dear  Miss  Wheaton, 

'  I  had  been  anxious  to  know  whether  there  was  a 
portrait  of  your  brother,  and  on  entering  the  room  on 
the  melancholy  day,  I  shared  the  general  satisfaction 
of  his  friends  at  finding  the  beautiful  picture  by 
Healy,  I  immediately  determined  to  have  a  daguer- 
reotype made  from  it  for  my  own  use,  and  have  often 
taken  a  sad  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  I  could  have  by 
me  something  that  would  constantly  revive  the  counte- 
nance of  my  friend. 

'  Having  spoken  to  Col.  Rivers  about  it,  I  was  on  the 
point  of  writing  to  him,  when  this  beautiful,  thoughtful 
gift  from  Mrs.  Wheaton  reached  me. 

'  I  can  hardly  express  the  heartfelt  gratification  I 
receive  from  it,  increased  by  the  knowledge  that  it  is 


120  MEMOIR    OF 

the  gift  of  his  mother.  I  shall  teacli  my  children  to 
regard  it  with  the  feelings  due  to  the  memory  of  one 
to  whom  their  father  was  attached  with  a  more  peculiar 
interest  than  to  any  men  of  his  own  general  period  of 
life.  How  naturally  one  repeats  the  emotions  of  Cow- 
per  towards  the  noble  art  which  so  perpetuates  the 
presence  of  a  friend.' 

The  reader,  it  is  hoped,  will  join  in  the  gratification 
of  the  writer  for  the  permission  to  publish  the  following 
letters : 

*To  George  Rivers,  Esq. 

'  Boston,  October  18th,  1851. 

'  Dear  Rivers, 
'  On  my  return  from  Washington  I  find  your  favor 
of  October  10th.  It  was  with  inexpressible  grief  that 
I  read,  under  the  telegraphic  head,  of  Robert  Whea- 
ton's  death.  I  admired  him  very  much.  He  was 
young,  but  ripe  in  culture  beyond  any  person  of  his 
age,  and  was  a  most  beautiful  character.  I  trust  his 
family  will  be  consoled,  though  their  sorrow  must  be 
great.  Ever  sincerely  yours, 

'  Charles  Sumner.' 

New  Yorlc,  October  14th,  1851. 

*  My  dear  Friend, 
•  I  cannot  realize  what  cause  it  is  that  now  moves  me 
to  write  to  you,  for  the  thought  that  Robert  has  gone 
not  to  return,  seems  to  me  like  some  fearful  dream. 
Every  time  I  think  of  it,  the  same  thought  presents 
itself,  and  it  is  only  by  repeated  assurances  of  the  fact 
from  friends  and  from  the  newspapers,  that  the  reality 


ROBERT    WHEATON.  131 

is  clear.  When  the  word  first  came,  I  felt  like  sitting 
down  in  utter  despondency,  as  if  all  a  man's  efforts 
were  of  no  avail,  and  the  best  hopes  were  but  a  bril- 
liant mockery,  and  the  sooner  the  phantom  of  life  was 
gone,  the  better.  So  much  worth  and  promise,  such 
discipline  of  mind  and  heart  for  years,  such  manly 
energy  and  such  graceful  culture  —  all  passed  away  — 
how  utterly  overwhelming  is  the  very  thought!  What 
could  we  say  were  it  not  for  the  assurance  given  by 
this  very  shock  that  this  life  is  at  best  but  a  fragment, 
and  longer  or  shorter  it  needs  another  sphere  to  fulfil 
its  orbit  ? 

'  I  had  no  thought  of  Robert's  danger  when  I  saw  you 
last,  nor  had  you  then.  I  supposed  it  was  a  slight  cold 
that  would  soon  pass.  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a 
result.  You  will  not  ask  me  to  help  you  disguise  your 
grief,  but  will  seek  rather  to  see  all  its  depth,  and  find 
comfort  passing  its  bitterness.  A  noble,  high-minded 
son  and  brother  deserves  such  grief  as  you  will  feel,  as 
long  as  life  lasts.  1  share  it  with  you  so  far  as  a  friend 
may  without  presumption  do.  What  a  tie  he  was 
between  your  later  and  former  years  —  what  a  con- 
stant presence  of  his  father's  principles,  taste  and 
experience  —  what  a  memory  and  what  a  hope  his 
very  life  was  to  you  —  how  you  must  have  rejoiced  in 
such  a  combination  of  accomplishment  with  solidity, 
refined  grace  and  manly  integrity !  You  will  be  strong- 
minded  enough  to  rejoice  in  these  treasures  even  now, 
and  to  feel  what  Lord  Ormond  felt  when  he  said  that 
he  would  not  exchange  the  memory  of  his  deceased 
son  for  the  noblest  living  youth  in  Christendom.  You 
will  be   grateful  to  God  even  now  for  what  has  been 


122  MEMOIR    OF 

given  you,  and  Memory  will  find  a  helper  in  immortal 
hope. 

'  I  am  not  skilled  in  'the  decent  commonplaces  of 
condolence,  and  to  you  certainly  can  write  without  dis- 
guise. I  have  always  felt  a  personal  interest  in  Robert, 
and  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  his  card  came  to  me  in  the 
country,  I  wrote  some  words  of  greeting  for  our  paper, 
which  I  thought  might  inform  friends  here  of  his  pros- 
pects and  conciliate  interest  in  his  professional  welfare. 
I  should  have  rejoiced  heartily  in  the  success,  so  sure  to 
him  had  years  been  spared,  and  should  have  allowed 
no  occasion  to  pass  without  expressing  my  good-will, 
only  regretting  that  humble  influence  that  so  restricts 
my  ability.  If  possible,  I  should  have  been  present 
at  the  last  rites,  word  of  which  came  but  a  few  hours 
before  the  time  appointed. 

*  I  had  a  fellow-feeling  for  Robert  beyond  the  exter- 
nal courtesies  of  society,  and  from  hard  experience 
could  sympathize  with  him  in  the  bereavement  that 
left  him  to  such  conflicts  with  fortune.  How  pleasantly 
he  spoke  to  me  last  summer  at  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  fes- 
tival at  Cambridge,  and  now,  as  I  write,  his  calm, 
cheerful  smile  is  before  me  as  vividly  as  then,  I  have 
written  a  few  words  of  remembrance  in  the  Christian 
Inquirer  of  this  week,  which  you  will  see.  Not  think- 
ing to  say  a  tithe  of  my  feelings  now,  but  to  express  my 
cordial  sympathy  and  to  pray  God's  blessing  on  you 
and  your  children,  I  remain, 

'  Ever  cordially  yours, 

'  Samuel  Osgood.' 


ROBERT   WHEATON.  123 

'  Cambridge,  October  23, 1851. 

'  My  dear  Miss  Wheaton, 
'  I  am  veiy  much  obliged  to  you  for  remembering 
me  in  your  unspeakable  affliction.  The  likeness  of 
Robert,  which  you  had  the  kindness  to  send  me,  I  shall 
keep  as  a  precious  memorial  of  one,  who  was  to  me 
as  one  of  my  own  household,  and  whose  early  death  I 
shall  never  cease  to  deplore.  My  acquaintance  with 
Robert  began  in  his  connection  with  the  college  as 
French  instructor,  and  gradually  ripened  into  great 
intimacy  and  affection.  The  modesty  and  reserve  of 
his  character  made  it  impossible  to  know  him  well  at 
once  ;  but  by  degrees  we  came  to  understand  the  sin- 
gular gentleness,  dignity,  and  purity  of  his  mind ;  his 
rare  gifts  ;  his  various  accomplishments,  and  the  charm 
of  his  polished,  intelligent  and  amiable  conversation. 
I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  known  a  young  man  of  more 
gentleman-like  qualities  and  manners,  or  of  more  spot- 
less integrity  of  purpose  and  conduct.  His  friendship 
was  to  me  and  my  family  a  great  and  constant  satis- 
faction ;  and  we  looked  forward  to  the  enjoyment  of  it 
for  many  pleasant  years.  His  presence  was  always  a 
delight  to  my  household,  and  his  departure  a  regret. 
The  last  night  he  passed  in  Cambridge  was  at  my 
house,  in  a  chamber  we  have  long  called  "  Wheaton's 
room,"  and  which  was  always  ready  to  receive  him. 
We  expected  him  to  return  and  pass  the  Sunday  with 
us,  little  dreaming  that  the  Saturday  morning's  pleasant 
breakfast  was  to  be  the  last  time  we  should  see  him 
alive.  I  seem  to  see  him  at  this  moment  in  my  study  ; 
his  voice,  low  and  gentle  as  a  woman's,  is  still  sound- 
ing in  my  ears,  and  whenever  I  think  of  a  circle  of 


121  MEMOIR    OF    ROBERT    WHEATON. 

friends  around  me,  his  figure  is  among  the  foremost. 
I  cannot  bring  my  mind  to  the  conviction  tliat  he  has 
gone  away  from  us  forever. 

*  I  need  not  say  how  deeply  we  all  sympathize  with 
you  in  your  grief.  I  need  not  suggest  the  topics  of 
consolation  to  which  your  thoughts  naturally  fly.  I  can 
only  say  that  I  shall  always  remember  him  ;  that  in 
losing  him,  I  have  lost  one  of  the  joys  of  life  ;  that  in 
looking  back  upon  his  career,  I  see  nothing  to  regret 
but  its  too  early  conclusion  ;  nothing  in  his  character  to 
wish  otherwise  ;  nothing  ever  said  by  him  to  wish 
unsaid,  or  done  by  him  to  wish  were  undone. 

'  With  kindest  regards  to  your  mother  and  sister  on 
the  part  of  Mrs.  Felton  and  myself,  I  am  ever  truly 
yours,  C.  C.  Felton.' 


ARTICLES 


WRITTEN    BY   ROBERT    WHEATON, 


SELECTED  FROM   KEVIEWS   AND  MAGAZINES. 


THE  SOURCES  OF  THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA. 


1.  La  Divine  Comedie  avant  Dante.  Par  M.  Charles  La- 
BiTTE.  [La  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.  Septembre,  1842.] 
Paris. 

2.  Etudes  sur  les  Sources  Poetiques  de  la  Divine  Comedie. 
Par  A.  J.  OzANAM.    Paris  :  Lecoffre  &  C"'"-    1845. 

The  object  of  these  two  interesting  essays  is  to  show 
the  sources  whence  Dantp  drew  his  poetic  inspiration. 
Such  an  undertaking  would  have  excited  general  dis- 
approbation some  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  and  the  two 
learned  persons  whose  works  we  have  before  us  would 
have  been  accused  of  wishing  to  depreciate  the  genius 
of  the  great  Florentine  poet.  No  such  feeling  is  now 
entertained ;  literary  criticism  having  made  so  much 
progress  of  late  years,  we  are  all  convinced,  that  to 
subject  the  works  of  men  of  genius  to  such  an  analy- 
sis is  not  to  diminish  their  glory,  but  rather  to  add  to  it, 
inasmuch  as  it  shows  their  superiority  to  their  prede- 
cessors. In  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  it  is  not 
given  to  man  to  create  ;  God  alone  possesses  this  power. 
The  man  of  genius,  like  the  architect  who  in  executing 
the  plan  he  has  conceived  makes  use  of  the  rough 
stone,  may  collect  and  arrange  those  materials  which  he 
finds  dispersed  in  the  world,  but  he  can  never  give  life 


128  THE    SOURCES    OF 

to  that  which  is  not.  His  task  is  to  put  order  in  the 
place  of  disorder,  to  give  light  to  that  which  was  veiled 
in  darkness.  Thus  it  is  with  Dante.  He  found  the 
materials  which  he  used  for  the  composition  of  his 
immortal  poem,  he  collected  them,  and  gave  them  the 
unity  and  harmony  which  the  man  of  genius  alone  can 
impart  to  his  works.  To  require  that  he  should  lead  us 
through  the  three  regions  of  eternal  life,  without  follow- 
ing any  other  light  than  that  of  his  own  genius,  without 
having  gathered  any  of  the  flowers  which  bloom  so  pro- 
fusely through  the  works  of  the  ancients,  without  any 
precedents  to  justify  the  bold  imaginings  of  his  Muse, 
and  without  having  profited  by  those  legends  so  frequent 
in  the  poetic  and  imaginative  religion  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  is  to  ask  more  than  man  can  give. 

On  studying  with  attention  the  Divina  Commedia,  it 
is  impossible  not  to  see  that  Dante  was  indebted  to  his 
predecessors  and  contemporaries  for  some  of  the  great- 
est beauties  of  his  poem.  The  treasures  of  antiquity, 
as  well  as  those  of  Christianity,  were  made  to  contrib- 
ute to  the  formation  of 

'  the  sacred  work  that  made 
Both  heayea  and  earth  copartners  in  the  toil,'*  — 

a  work  which,  after  a  lapse  of  five  hundred  years,  still 
excites  the  admiration  of  all,  of  the  Protestant  as  well 
as  the  Catholic,  and  even  of  those  who  are,  in  general, 
averse  to  meditating  upon  death  and  eternity,  the  two 
great  subjects  which  Dante  sang. 

* '  II  poema  sacro 
Al  quale  ha  posto  mano  e  cielo  e  terra.' 

Faradito,  Cant.  XXV. 


THE    DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  129 

We  may  trace  in  the  Divina  Commcdia  three  dis- 
tinct sources  of  inspiration ;  —  the  writings  of  the 
ancients,  the  poetic  visions  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
external  circumstances,  including  the  works  of  art 
which  in  Dante's  time  were  so  plentifully  scattered 
throughout  Europe.  We  shall  endeavor  to  examine 
successively  how  far  Dante  was  indebted  to  each  of 
these  sources.  To  those  who,  from  their  admiration 
for  the  great  poet,  or  from  their  taste  for  literary  an- 
tiquities in  general,  may  feel  interested  in  this  subject, 
we  recommend  the  perusal  of  the  two  works  now  under 
review.  They  are,  we  believe,  with  the  exception  of 
an  article  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  for  September, 
1818,  written  by  Ugo  Foscolo,  the  only  attempts  which 
have  as  yet  been  made  to  elucidate  a  subject  of  so 
much  interest  to  the  literary  world. 

The  first  source  from  which  sprung  the  Divina  Com- 
'  media  is  to  be  found  in  the  works  of  antiquity.  At  all 
times  the  imaginations  of  the  Greeks  were  accustomed 
to  visions  of  things  beyond  this  world.  Homer  had  led 
Ulysses  into  the  realms  of  Pluto;  Euripides,  in  the 
Alcestis  and  the  Hercules  Furens,  had  represented  his 
heroes  descending  into  Hades ;  Sophocles  had  shown 
the  son  of  Jupiter  and  Alcmene  canying  off  Cerberus. 
Similar  marvellous  narratives  formed  the  subjects  of 
two  tragedies  of  iEschylus,  the  Psychagogia  and  the 
Adventures  of  Sisyphus,  both  unfortunately  lost  to  us. 
These  fables  were  well  adapted  to  please  the  imagin- 
ative inhabitants  of  Greece,  who  were  always  inclined 
to  look  beyond  this  world  for  that  retribution  which 
cannot  be  found  in  our  present  state  of  existence. 
9 


130  THE    SOURCES    OF 

But  we  must  not  seek  in  the  works  of  the  Greek 
poets  for  anything  beyond  fine  descriptions  and  poetical 
images  of  a  future  state.  We  must  not  look  for  tliose 
pure  and  spiritual  delineations  of  eternal  life,  which 
Plato  alone  had  dimly  conceived  before  they  were 
fully  brought  to  light  by  divine  revelation.  The  Greek 
poets,  in  so  frequently  laying  the  scene  of  dramatic 
and  epic  action  in  another  world,  have  merely  shown 
that  this  was  a  favorite  subject  with  the  people  for  whom 
they  wrote.  Plato  has  done  more  ;  he  has  led  us  still 
farther  into  the  kingdom  of  Death.  He  has  shown, 
with  a  sense  of  justice  which  had  never  before  been 
witnessed  in  pagan  antiquity,  the  punishments  and 
rewards  reserved  for  those  who  have  left  this  world. 
In  the  narrative  of  Her,  an  Armenian  soldier,  Plato  has 
given  a  description  of  the  invisible  world.  *  This 
soldier,  says  Plato,  was  killed  in  battle.  Ten  days 
after  his  death,  his  body  was  found  on  the  field  in  a 
perfect  state  of  preservation.  It  was  placed  on  a 
funeral  pile  to  be  burned,  when  life  returned,  and  Her 
rose  to  relate  to  the  bystanders  what  he  had  seen. 

*  As  soon  as  my  soul  had  left  the  body,'  said  he,  '  I 
arrived,  together  with  a  great  number  of  other  souls 
at  a  most  wonderful  place.  In  the  ground  were  two 
openings,  close  together,  and  in  the  heavens  were  two 
other  openings,  which  corresponded  with  those  in  the 
earth.  Between  these  two  regions  were  seated  the 
judges.  As  soon  as  they  had  passed  sentence  on  a 
soul,  they  ordered  it,  if  it  was  one  of  the  just,  to  take 
the  road  up  to  heaven,  which  was  to  the  right ;  they 

♦  The  Republic.    Book  X. 


THE    DIVINA    COMMEDIA.  131 

had  previously  placed  on  its  breast  a  label  inscribed 
with  the  judgment  which  had  been  pronounced  in  its 
favor.  If,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  the  soul  of  one  con- 
demned, it  was  ordered  to  turn  to  the  left,  and  to  enter 
one  of  tho  openings  in  the  ground  ;  each  carried  on  its 
back  an  inscription  enumerating  all  the  wicked  actions 
it  had  committed  during  its  life.  When  I  presented 
myself,  the  judges  decreed  that  I  should  return  to  the 
world  to  relate  what  I  had  seen,  and  ordered  me  to 
hear  and  to  notice  everything  that  should  take  place.' 

Her  then  describes  the  manner  in  which  the  souls 
were  punished  or  rewarded.  His  narrative  does  not  at 
all  resemble  the  descriptions  of  the  infernal  regions  so 
common  among  the  poets  of  antiquity.  There  is  some- 
thing in  it  more  elevated,  more  pure,  more  terrible;  it 
seems  to  be  the  first  step  towards  that  doctrine  which, 
a  few  centuries  later,  regenerated  the  world.  We  must 
not  say  that  Plato  placed  unlimited  trust  in  such  nar- 
ratives ;  but  he  knew  the  vast  importance  of  these 
symbolic  representations  of  moral  truths.  In  his  Phsedo, 
he  has  said,  —  *  To  maintain  that  all  these  things  are  as 
I  relate  them  would  not  be  possible  for  a  man  of  sense  ; 
but  whether  all  I  have  said  about  the  souls  and  the 
place  of  their  abode  is  true  or  not,  if  the  soul  is  really 
immortal,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  may  be  believed  with- 
out danger.' 

Five  centuries  after  Plato,  we  find  a  similar  narrative 
in  a  work  of  Plutarch :  De  his  qui  a  numine  sero  pu- 
niuntur.  Thespesius  of  Cilicia  returns  to  the  world 
after  his  death,  and  relates  Avhat  he  had  seen.  '  He 
had  lived,'  says  Plutarch,  '  in  the  indulgence  of  sensual 


132  THE    SOURCES    OF 

pleasures.    His  vision  of  eternity  sanctified  and  purified 
him.' 

The  Romans,  whose  literature  is,  after  all,  but  an 
admirable  imitation  of  that  of  Greece,  the  reflection  of 
a  brilliant  light,  naturally  transferred  to  their  works 
the  taste  of  the  former  for  the  marvellous.  Cicero,  in 
the  last  book  of  his  Republic,  has  given  us  the  Dream 
of  Scipio,  which,  in  the  work  of  the  Roman  philoso- 
pher, takes  the  place  of  Plato's  Vision  of  Her.  Scipio 
the  younger,  in  a  dream,  imagined  that  his  ancestor, 
Scipio  Africanus,  appeared  to  him,  and  after  pointing 
out  to  him  the  brilliant  career  which  awaited  him,  pre- 
pared him  for  his  destiny  by  explaining  to  him  the 
economy  of  the  system  of  the  universe.  Transported 
to  the  top  of  a  celestial  temple,  Scipio,  in  the  midst  of 
the  souls  which  are  wandering  along  the  milky-way, 
listens  to  the  seven  notes  of  the  eternal  music  of  the 
spheres.  He  gazes  upon  the  stars  which  surround 
him,  and  contemplates  with  awe  the  immense  spaces  in 
which  they  are  suspended  ;  and  when  at  last  he  dis- 
covers our  little  world,  and  the  small  space  which  the 
Roman  empire  occupies,  he  turns  away  to  hide  his 
shame.  Struck  by  the  admirable  spectacle  which  he 
has  witnessed,  he  vows  to  rise  above  this  world,  and  to 
aspire  with  all  his  power  to  this  supreme  felicity.  In 
this  admirable  fragment,  Cicero  has  collected  all  his 
doctrines  on  God,  on  nature,  and  on  man. 

But  the  images  of  a  world  of  spirits  are  still  more 
vivid    in   another  and   more    popular   work,   Virgil's 
iEneid.     In  the  sixth  book  of  this  poem,  the  Roman 
poet  has  given  an  epitome  of  the  whole  religious  sys- 
tem of  his  country.     He  has  shown   the  origin  and 


THE    UIVINA    COMMEDIA.  133 

destiny  of  the  soul,  and  has  combined  the  philosophical 
doctrines  of  his  times  with  all  the  pomp  and  majesty 
of  the  Greek  mythology.  In  fact,  he  may  be  said  to 
have  opened  the  road  to  the  infernal  regions  ;  for  all 
his  imitators  faithfully  crowd  after  him,  and  follow  him 
to  the  cavern  of  the  terrible  sibyl.  The  descent  to  the 
regions  of  death  and  darkness  becomes  an  easy  under- 
taking, — facilis  decensus  Averno.  Ovid  leads  Orpheus 
and  Juno  to  them  ;  Silius  Italicus  shows  Scipio  visiting 
Avernus ;  Statius  has  given  no  less  than  three  descrip- 
tions of  the  infernal  regions  ;  and  Valerius  Flaccus  and 
Claudian  have  followed  the  common  example.  The 
dramatists  are  not  in  this  respect  outdone  by  the  epic 
poets.  It  is  remarkable,  also,  that  in  the  fights  of  the 
gladiators  a  figure  bearirg  the  attributes  of  Pluto,  with 
a  hammer  in  his  hand,  came  into  the  arena  to  take 
away  the  bodies  of  the  dead.  The  poets  of  the  time 
of  the  decline  of  the  Roman  empire  treat  these  pop- 
ular descriptions,  and  the  belief  of  the  multitude,  with 
the  greatest  contempt.  Seneca  says,  that  they  are 
nothing  but  words  devoid  of  sense.*  In  the  eyes  of 
Juvenal,  they  are  are  fables  to  be  believed  only  by 
'  children  too  young  to  pay  at  the  public  baths.'  t 

Dante,  it  is  probable,  was  only  indirectly  indebted  to 
the  Greeks  for  the  general  conception  or  the  details  of 
his  poem,  for  it  is  still  a  question  how  far  he  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  Greek  language  ;  but  to  the  Romans 
he  certai'nly  owed  much.     He  tells  us,  that,  after  the 


*  *  Rumores  vacui,  verbaque  inania.' —  Troad,  Act  II. 
t '  Nee  pueri  credunt,  nisi  qui  nondum  sere  lavantur.' — Juv., 
Sat.  n.,  152. 


134  THE    SOURCES    OF 

death  of  Beatrice,  he  sought  for  consolation  in  the 
works  of  Cicero.*  He  then  read  the  Somnium  Scipi- 
onis,  and,  like  the  great  Roman  general,  overpowered 
by  the  admirable  vision  there  related,  he  determined  to 
rise  above  the  world,  and  to  concentrate  all  his  thoughts 
on  the  mysteries  of  another  life.  But  to  Virgil  he 
was  particularly  indebted.  There  is  ample  evidence  of 
this  in  the  first  canto  of  the  Inferno,  for  there  he  has 
himself  said,  in  speaking  to  Virgil:  —  'Thou  art  my 
master  and  my  guide,  thou  art  he  from  whom  I  took 
the  beautiful  style  which  has  done  me  so  much  honor.' t 
The  part  which  he  has  ascribed,  in  his  poem,  to  the 
great  Latin  poet,  shows  how  well  he  must  have  been 
acquainted  with  the  jEneid.  In  his  eyes,  as  in  those  of 
most  men  of  the  Middle  Ages,  Virgil  was  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  religious  belief  of  the  ancients,  in  its 
purest  form.  He  had,  as  it  was  then  believed,  prophe- 
sied in  one  of  his  Eclogues,  the  advent  of  Christ.  As 
we  have  already  said,  he  did  not,  in  the  sixth  book  of 
the  JEne'id,  follow  exclusively  the  precepts  of  any  one 
school  of  philosophy.  Whilst  he  professed  the  pure 
and  spiritual  doctrines  of  Plato,  he  did  not  express  any 
contempt  for  the  mysteries  of  Eleusis,  or  the  poetic 
conceptions  of  the  Pythagoreans.  These  considera- 
tions had  given  rise  during  the  Middle  Ages  to  a  pecu- 
liar veneration  for  the  name  of  Virgil.  By  the  people 
he  was  considered  as  a  magician  ;     by  the    men  of 

*Convito,  11,  13. 

t  •  Tu  se'  lo  mio  maestro  c  '1  mio  autore, 
Tu  se'  solo  colui  da  cu'  io  tolsi 
Lo  bello  stile,  che  m'  ha  fatto  onore.' 

Inferno,  Canto  I.,  85  -  88. 


.    THE    DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  135 

learning,  as  a  prophet.  On  the  subject  of  his  life  and 
death  ttie  most  curious  legends  were  in  circulation. 
He  figured  in  the  old  Mysteries,  and  there  is  even  an 
old  Spanish  ballad  entitled  Vergilios.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising, then,  that  Dante  should  have  chosen  him  for 
his  guide  during  the  first  part  of  his  supernatural  in- 
itiation into  the  mysteries  of  eternity.  He  was  prob- 
ably acquainted,  also,  with  a  number  of  the  minor 
Latin  poets  ;  for,  notwithstanding  the  religious  zeal  of 
these  times,  and  the  treasures  of  learning  and  elo- 
quence which  Christianity  had  given  to  the  world,  the 
cultivation  of  Greek  and  Roman  letters  was  never 
entirely  abandoned.  In  1325,  we  find  a  master  of 
grammar,  named  Vital,  employed  in  the  University  of 
Bologna,  at  a  fixed  stipend,  to  comment  upon  the  works 
of  Cicero  and  of  Ovid.  In  the  monasteries,  the  pas- 
sion for  antiquity  was  carried  to  such  an  extent,  that, 
even  as  early  as  the  eleventh  century,  a  German  monk 
complains  bitterly  of  the  great  abuses  to  which  this 
taste  for  Juvenal  and  Horace  might  give  rise,  and 
accuses  himself  of  having  given  too  much  time  to  the 
reading  of  Lucan.  But,  as  M.  Ozanam  very  justly 
observes,  it  is  in  Latin,  and  in  making  use  of  the  same 
measure  as  these  poets,  that  this  monk  expresses  his 
complaints  and  regrets. 

Such  are  the  sources,  in  the  ancient  literature  of  the 
Greeks  and  the  Romans,  to  which  Dante  is  chiefly 
indebted.  If  we  now  turn  to  the  literature  of  the  East 
for  descriptions  of  another  world,  we  shall  find  an 
abundance  of  curious  and  instructive  material.  But  it 
must  be  remarked,  that  the  Jewish  and  Hindoo  writers 
can  have  exercised  on  Dante's   poem  but  an  indirect 


136  THE    SOURCES    OF 

and  rather  vague  influence,  and  that  it  is  only  when 
we  consider  them  as  one  more  link  of  that  chai§  which 
unites  the  inspiration  of  the  Florentine  poet  with  those 
traditions  which  have  occupied  and  interested  the  hu- 
man race  at  all  times,  that  they  can  be  studied  in  con* 
nection  with  the  Divina  Commedia.  A  rapid  analysis 
of  these  works  will  show  what  were  the  notions  of 
these  people  on  the  subject  of  a  future  state. 

Although  full  of  the  most  poetic  images,  the  Hebrew 
Scriptures  contain  little  or  nothing  on  this  topic.  There 
is  no  complete  description  of  hell  to  be  found,  and  the 
few  expressions  which  are  used  to  designate  it  convey 
but  a  vague  idea  to  the  mind  of  the  reader.  Even  the 
visions  of  Elias,  of  Ezekiel,  or  of  Enoch,  do  not  give 
any  details  respecting  it.  In  the  Hindoo  literature,  on 
the  contrary,  there  is  much  on  the  subject.  In  the 
Maha-Barata,  we  find  the  description  of  the  journey  of 
Ardjuna  to  the  heaven  of  India.  In  the  Atharva-Veda, 
that  most  ancient  of  poems,  we  see  the  young  Brahmin 
Tadkjita  sent  by  his  father  to  the  king  of  Death,  from 
whose  kingdom  no  living  man  ever  returned.  The 
king,  touched  by  the  obedience  of  Tadkjita,  sends  him 
back  to  earth,  after  having  granted  him  three  gifts, 
which  he  may  choose  as  he  likes.  After  he  has  asked 
for  two,  which  are  granted,  the  conversation  between 
them  continues  thus.  Tadkjita  says,  — '  This  is  my 
third  request ;  among  those  who  discuss  these  matters, 
there  are  many  contradictions.  Some  say  there  is 
nothing  beyond  this  world,  and  that,  when  the  body 
perishes,  nothing  remains ;  others  think  that  the  soul 
is  distinct  from  the  body,  and  that,  when  the  body  dies, . 
the  soul  enters  another  world,  where  it  is  treated  ac- 


THE    DIVINA    COMMEDIA.  137 

cording  as  it  has  merited.  I  therefore  wish  that  you 
should  instruct  me,  in  order  that  I  may  learn  which  of 
these  opinions  is  true.'  The  king  of  Death  replied,  — 
'  On  this  subject  the  gods  themselves  are  in  doubt ;  it  is 
a  subtile  matter  which  escapes  the  powers  of  the  intel- 
ligence.' Tadjkita  said,  — '  O  King  !  this  is  my  great 
desire,  and  I  have  no  other  desire  stronger  than  this.' 
The  king  of  Death  replied,  —  '  Ask  me  to  grant  you  a 
great  number  of  children,  and  that  they  may  live  a 
long  time,  each  one  living  to  the  age  of  a  hundred 
years  ;  ask  me  to  give  you  the  world  and  all  its  riches  ; 
ask  me  to  grant  you  a  long  life,  or  anything  else  you 
like  ;  only  do  not  ask  me  to  answer  that  one  question, 
—  What  happens  after  death  ?  For  none  of  those  who 
are  dead  ever  return  to  the  world  to  tell  this  to  the  liv- 
ing.' Tadjkita  rejoined,  —  '  You  say,  Ask  me  to  grant 
you  a  long  life.  But  if  in  the  end  I  must  die,  what 
shall  I  gain  by  living  many  years  ?  Keep  therefore 
for  yourself  the  world  and  its  riches,  and  a  long  life. 
I  have  but  one  wish ;  that  is,  that  you  should  instruct 
me.  I  ask  this  because  I  live  in  the  world,  and  because 
I  fear  death  and  old  age.  I  ask  you  to  teach  me  some- 
thing which  shall  prevent  my  fearing  either  old  age  or 
death.'  The  king,  touched  by  the  earnestness  of  his 
request,  informs  him  of  the  state  of  the  soul  after 
death,  and  sends  him  back  to  the  world  with  the  cer- 
tainty of  a  future  existence.* 

^  Similar  scenes  are  to  be  found  in  some  of  the  songs 
of  the  Edda.  In  the  Vafthrudnis-mal,  the  giant  Vaf- 
thrudnir  informs   Odin   of   what  he  has  seen   in  the 

*  Oupnek  'hat.    Vol.  II.  37. 


138  THE   SOURCES   OF 

Valhalla,  and  in  the  darker  regions  of  death.*  In  the 
Vegtams-quida,  Odin  mounts  his  horse,  Sleipner,  and 
descends  into  the  infernal  regions,  there  to  consult  the 
spirit  of  a  prophetess  respecting  the  fate  of  Balder, 
the  youngest  and  the  fairest  of  the  human  race,  t  Thus 
we  find  analogous  ideas  on  the  subject  of  a  future  state 
in  the  literature  of  all  nations,  even  of  those  the  most 
remotely  connected.  This  is  not  surprising,  when  we 
reflect  that  the  earliest  application  which  was  made  of 
poetry  was  to  religious  subjects.  Quintilian  tells  us, 
that  poetry  was  destined  to  preserve  sacred  doctrines, 
to  express  the  decrees  of  the  oracles,  and  to  animate 
devotion.  Thus  the  common  origin  of  all  poetry  ex- 
plains the  singular  resemblances  we  find  between  the 
Hindoo  and  Scandinavian  literatures,  resemblances 
which  would  otherwise  be  inexplicable. 

We  have  seen  how  far  the  ancients  succeeded  in 
penetrating  the  mysteries  of  our  spiritual  nature  and 
future  destiny.  We  have  witnessed  the  isolated  at- 
tempts of  poets  and  philosophers,  and  the  combined 
eflforts  of  whole  nations,  to  explain  Avhat  is  to  be  the 
state  of  the  soul  after  death.  How  vague  and  unsatis- 
factory are  the  results  of  these  undertakings  !  But 
life  and  immortality  were  brought  to  light  by  the  gospel, 
and  what  had  been  the  subject  of  the  doubtful  medita- 
tions of  men  of  science  since  the  beginning  of  the 
world  was  made  evident  to  the  followers  of  the  new 


•  For  an  analysis  of  this  part  of  the  VaAhrudnis-mal,  see 
Wheaton's  History  of  the  Northmen,  p.  68. 

f  See  a  translation  in  verse  of  this  Saga,  in  Spenser's  Mis- 
cellaneous Poetry,  "Vol.  I.,  p.  50. 


THE    DIVINA    COMMEDIA.  139 

religion.  Still,  as  a  society  of  men  cannot  exist  with- 
out some  kind  of  poetry  to  gratify  their  imaginations, 
the  New  Testament  soon  became  the  source  of  poetic 
inspiration.  All  the  narratives,  which  in  the  sacred 
books  had  been  designedly  left  unfinished,  were  soon 
completed,  according  to  the  taste  of  the  early  ages  of 
our  era.  We  need  mention  but  one  example  of  this, 
that  of  the  legends  relative  to  the  Virgin  Mary.  The 
mother  of  the  Saviour  is  mentioned  but  once  in  the 
New  Testament  after  the  death  of  her  son,  because  at 
the  foot  of  his  cross  all  the  interest  she  inspired  van- 
ishes ;  her  sacred  character  disappears,  she  is  no  longer 
superior  to  any  other  woman.  The  legendary  spirit, 
however,  which  at  so  early  a  period  sprung  out  of  the 
new  faith,  did  not  respect  the  silence  of  Scripture  on 
this  subject.  A  narrative  of  the  life  and  death  of  the 
Virgin  was  invented  ;  the  popular  belief  penetrated 
into  the  church  ;  and  even  at  the  present  day,  all  Ro- 
man Catholics  celebrate  the  15th  of  August  as  the  day 
of  the  ascension  of  the  Virgin.  The  multitude  had 
free  access  to  the  sanctuary  ;  consequently  the  sanc- 
tuaiy  was  not  always  respected.  The  mysteries  of 
another  life  had  been  laid  open  to  all  men  ;  they  no 
longer  feared  to  gaze  upon  those  secret  regions  where 
retribution  awaits  those  who  have  left  this  life.  Our 
Saviour  and  his  apostles  had  never  attempted  to  give 
any  description  of  heaven  or  of  hell ;  the  poetic  and 
zealous  spirit  of  the  new  Christians  did  not  hesitate  to 
supply  this  omission.  Hence  the  vast  number  of  le- 
gends and  visions  which  pervade  the  literature  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  which  were  not  destined  to  receive  a 
definitive  and  permanent  form  until  Dante  combined 


% 


140  THE    SOURCES    OF 

them  in  liis  immortal  work,  and  gave  to  them  the  sanc- 
tion of  genius.  Wc  shall  endeavor  to  show  how  much 
influence  they  exercised  on  Dante's  invention,  to  give 
a  general  idea  of  the  nature  of  these  legends,  and 
to  analyze  as  rapidly  as  possible  some  of  those  which 
may  prove  the  most  illustrative  of  our  subject. 

Among  the  legends  of  the  Middle  Ages,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  distinguish  those  which  belonged  in  common  to 
all  nations  from  those  which  seem  to  have  been  the 
property  of  some  particular  race.  In  the  collection  of 
poetic  traditions  entitled  Legenda  Aurea,  published 
during  the  thirteenth  century,  by  Giacopo  de  Varaggio, 
we  find  many  legends  that  were  popular  throughout  all 
Europe.  Such  are  the  narratives  of  the  visions  of 
St.  Carpus  and  St.  Christina,  which  were  in  circulation 
during  the  first  centuries  of  our  era.  We  are  struck 
by  the  mildness  of  spirit  which  pervades  these  early 
legends.  But  if  it  is  remembered,  that,  when  these 
legends  were  composed,  Origen  was  teaching  that  all 
the  sufferings  of  hell  are  but  expiatory,  and  inculcating 
the  doctrine  of  the  final  redemption  of  mankind,  we 
shall  not  be  surprised  at  this. 

The  most  striking  of  the  legends  given  by  Giacopo 
de  Varaggio  is  that  of  referring  to  the  descent  of  Christ 
into  hell.  This  legend  is  taken  from  the  apocryphal 
Gospel  of  Nicodemus.  The  narrative  commences  on 
the  day  of  the  resurrection  of  the  Lord.  While  the 
Jewish  priests  are  in  deliberation,  two  men,  Lucius  and 
Carinus,  risen  from  the  dead,  are  introduced  into  the 
synagogue.  They  relate  that,  as  they  were  in  dark- 
ness with  the  patriarchs,  a  brilliant  light  suddenly  ap- 
peared, and  the  father  of  all  men,  Adam,  was  filled 


i 


THE    DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  141 

with  joy,  and  exclaimed,  —  'This  is  the  light  of  the 
Author  of  all  things,  who  promised  to  send  us  his 
light.'  And  Isaiah  said,  —  'This  light  is  that  of  the 
Son  of  God,  of  which  I  prophesied  that  the  people 
which  was  walking  in  darkness  should  see  the  splendor.' 
And  Satan,  the  Prince  of  death,  said  to  Hell,  —  'Be 
prepared  to  receive  Jesus,  who  prided  himself  on  being 
the  Son  of  God,  and  who  is  but  a  man  who  fears  to 
die ;  for  he  said,  "  My  soul  is  sorrowful  even  unto 
death."  I  have  tempted  him,  I  have  excited  the  people 
against  him,  and  prepared  his  cross  ;  the  moment  is  at 
hand  when  I  shall  bring  him  prisoner  to  this  place.' 
And  Hell  answered  and  said,  — '  Is  it  the  same  Jesus 
wbo  ordered  Lazarus  to  rise  from  the  dead  ?  '  'It  is 
be,*  replied  Satan.  '  Then,'  cried  Hell,  '  I  beseech 
thee,  by  thy  power  and  my  own,  not  to  bring  him  here  ; 
for  when  I  heard  his  voice,  1  trembled  and  could  not 
hold  Lazarus,  who  suddenly  escaped  and  rose  in  the 
air,  like  an  eagle.'  But  while  Hell  was  thus  speaking, 
a  voice  like  thunder  was  heard  to  say,  — '  Princes, 
open  your  gates,  your  eternal  gates,  and  let  the  King 
of  Glory  enter.'  At  the  sound  of  this  voice,  the  de- 
mons shut  the  gates  of  bronze  with  iron  bars.  But 
David,  on  seeing  them,  said,  —  '  I  prophecied  that  he 
would  break  the  gates  of.  bronze.'  And  the  voice  was 
again  heard  to  say,  — '  Open  your  gates,  and  let  the 
King  of  Gloiy  enter.'  Hell  then  said,  — '  Who  is 
this  King  of  Glory  f '  And  Daniel  answered,  —  *  The 
Lord  strong  and  powerful,  the  Lord  of  Hosts ;  it  is  he 
who  is  called  the  King  of  Glory.'  At  that  moment, 
the  King  of  Glory  himself  appeared,  and  taking  Adam 
by  the  hand,  said  to  him,  — '  Peace  be  with  thee,  and 


142  THE    SOURCES    OF 

all  those  of  thy  race  who  shall  be  just.'  And  the  Lord 
left  Hell,  and  all  those  who  were  just  followed  him. 
The  archangel  Michael  opens  the  gates  of  paradise  to 
tlie  multitude.  There  appears  a  man  bearing  on  his 
shoulder  the  sign  of  the  cross  ;  this  man  was  the  thief 
who  was  crucified  with  Christ,  and  to  whom  our  Sa- 
viour had  predicted  that  he  should  that  day  be  in  para- 
dise with  him.* 

Here  crlds  this  curious  legend,  which,  if  it  had  but 
little  authority  in  the  eyes  of  the  theologian,*  has  at 
least  been  a  source  to  which  Milton  and  Klopstock  did 
not  disdain  to  look  for  poetical  descriptions*.  Another 
curious  legend,  among  those  which  belonged  ip  com- 
mon to  all  the  nations  of  Europe,  is  that  of  the  vis^pn 
of  the  three  monks,  Sergius,  Theophilu*  affd  Hygiflus. 
They  wished  to  discover  the  spot  where  heaven  «nd  . 
earth  touch  each  other ;  that  is  to  say,  the  terrestrial  M 
paradise.  After  having  travelled  through  mdifi  and  fl 
I^rsia,  they  arrived  in  a  most  delightful  country,  w  in  ro  ^ 
seemed  to  reign  an  eternal  spring.  They  here  i'ounda 
fawn  and  a  dove,  who  led  them  thro^jgh  hell, —  wlinrc 
they  heard  cries  of  *  Mercy  !  mercy  ! '  and  a  formida- 
ble voice  saying,  '  This  is  the  place  of  punishment ! ' — 
into  the  blessed  regions,  where  the  just  enjoy  the  per* 
petual  contemplation  of  God.  After  having  thus  visited 
all  the  mysteries  of  eternity,  they  returned  to  their 
convent,  but  other  monks  had  taken  their  place. 
They  saw  their  own  names  nearly  effaced  on  the 
list  of  persons  who  had  previously  inhabited  the  con- 
vent ;   seven  centuries  had  elapsed  since  they  had  left 

•  Legenda  Aurea,  De  Btsurrcctione  Domini. 


THE    DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  143 

it.  *  This  legend,  says  M.  Labitte,  shows  'something 
of  the  stories  of  the  Golden  Age,  mingled  with  the 
splendors  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  and  the  aspirations 
of  an  ascetic  life.'  These  two  fictions  are  among  the 
most  important  of  those  in  general  circulation.  We 
have  now  to  consider  those  which  differ  from  each 
other  according  to  the  peculiar  genius,  or  the  degree  of 
civilization,  of  the  people  among  whom  they  had  their 
origin.  Each  of  the  great  nations  of  Europe  had  its 
own  cyclus  of  legends,  as  it  had  its  own  laws  and  its 
peculiar  manners  and  customs. 

In  Germany,  religious  visions  are  found  in  greater 
number  than  in  any  other  region  ;^  and  they  bear  a 
character  of  severity  and  terror  which  seldom  belongs, 
at  l^st  in  the  same  degree,  to  the  legendary  poetry  of 
other  nations.  It  was  natural  that  it  should  be  so  in 
the  land  where  the  Catholic  faith  had  encountered  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  taking  root.  It  was  deemed  neces- 
«ary  to  use  terror  as  a  means  of  conviction  with  a  bar- 
irous  people,  who  lived  in  an  open  state  of  polygamy 

'late  as  the  eleventh  century,  and  whose  emperors 
''made  tlte'most  corrupt  use  of  ecclesiastical  patronage. 

Tlio  111  Ilk  Othlo  mentions  no  less  than  seven  visions 
i  the  i>unishments  reserved  for  the  wicked,  t  He 
i!so  relates  the  curious  adventure  of  a  knight  named 
VoUark.  As  he  was  going  to  a  nuptial  festivity  with 
some  of  his  friends,  he  lost  his  way  in  a  forest.  Pres- 
ently a  knight  dressed  in  black  accosted  him,  and   of- 

^**'^'   ■■ 

♦  Manuscript  in  the  Royal  Library  of  Paris,  fifteenth  century, 
No.  7762. 

f  Othlonis  monachi  Ratisbonensis  Liber  visionum  turn  sua- 
rum  turn  aliarum. 


144  THE   SOURCES   OF 

fered  him  shelter  for  the  night.  Vollark  accepted  the 
invitation,  and  entered  the  castle  of  his  host.  The 
tables  were  covered  with  gold,  silver  and  precious 
stones,  and  around  them  were  seated  the  most  hideous 
figures.  This  sight  filled  Vollark  with  astonishment 
and  fear.  '  All  these  riches,'  said  his  host,  *  are  those 
taken  by  men  from  their  churches ;  they  work  for  me.* 
The  poor  knight  then  remembered  that  his  host  had 
called  himself  Nithard,  that  is  to  say,  the  Evil  One  ; 
but  as  Vollark  lived  in  the  fear  of  God,  Nithard  had 
no  power  over  him,  and  he  was  enabled  to  return  to  his 
companions. 

One   of  the   most   remarkable  among  the  German 
visions  is  that  of   Wettin,  monk  of  the  monastery  of 
Reichenau.'  *     Two  days  before  his  death,  Wettirj,  was 
transported  in  spirit,  and  conducted   by  his  guardian 
angel  through  the  three  abodes  of  immortal  life.     He 
there  sa\y  the  condemned  given  up  to  the  most  dread 
ful  punishments,  rolled   in  torrents  of  fire,  buried   in 
coffins  of  lead,  and  surrounded  by  clouds  of  smoke.    ^ 
Among  those  who  were  condemned  to  suffer  he  rccog-^jB 
nised   many  priests  and  monks,  f     He  asotfj^d  the 
mountain  of  purgatory,  where  bishops  who  had  been 
remiss  in  the  discharge  of  their  duties,  and  rapaciou^|^« 
noblemen  and   princes,    were  condemned  to  expiate 
their  sins.     Among  the  latter,  ho  saw   Charlemagne 
punished  for  incontinence.     At  last  he  entered  heaven,   • 
and  having  passed  through  the  midst  of  the  holy  mar- 
tyrs and  virgins,  he  arrived  at  the  throne  of  God,  who 

•  Acta  Sanctorum  Ordinis  S.  Benedicti,  IV.,  pars  2,  p.  268 
f  Compare  these  punishments  with  those  described  by  Dante 
in  his  Inferno,  CsuQto  XI. 


THE    DIVINA    COMMEDIA.  145 

promised  him  eternal  life  on  condition  that  he  should 
return  to  the  world  to  relate  what  he  had  seen.  In  the 
vision  of  St.  Anscharius,  we  find,  in  the  description  of 
paradise,  much  of  the  spirituality  which  pervades  the 
narrative  of  Dante.  '  He  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon, 
nor  the  heavens  nor  «arth,  for  everything  there  was 
incorporeal.'  *  In  the  visions  mentioned  by  St.  Boni- 
face, t  the  founder  of  the  church  in  Germany,  one  is 
struck  by  the  gentleness  of  spirit  which  seems  to  have 
dictated  them;  still,  the  principal  aim  of  the  legends  of 
Germany,  as  already  said,  was  to  strike  terror  into  the 
heart  of  the  believer. 

The  same  gloomy  and  severe  character  is  stamped 
upon  many  of  the  French  legends.  The  French,  who 
had  derived  many  of  their  manners  and  customs  from 
their  neighbors  the  Germans,  preserved  them  down  to 
a  very  late  period.  We  find  a  manifesto  of  the  thir- 
teenth century,  in  which  the  Sicilians  complain  of  the 
barbarism  of  the  French,  because,  instead  of  taking 
their  instruction  from  Italy,  they  sought  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Rhine  for  their  laws  and  customs.  J  At 
the  period  of  the  decline  of  the  Carlovingians,  the 
French  legends  were  particularly  fearful.  The  descent 
into  hell  of  a  woman  named  Frothilda  is  recorded. 
She  there  foresaw  the  exile  of  Louis  d'Outremer,  and 


*  Vita  S.  Amcharii,  auctore  Eemberto.  '  Sol  vero  nee  luna 
necquaquam  lucebant  ibi,  nee  cesium  ac  terra  ibidem  visa 
sunt,  nam  cuncta  erant  incorporea.' 

f  S.  Bonifacii  EpistolcR. 

%  Vide  Amari,  Storia  del  Vespro  Siciliano. 
10 


% 


146  THE   SOURCES   OF 

the  consequent  disturbances  which  were  to  spread  grief 
and  sorrow  throughout  the  kingdom.*  Berthold  visits 
the  abode  of  the  damned,  and  there  sees  Charles  the 
Bald,  an  archbishop,  and  several  priests,  punished  for 
their  crimes,  t  Andrade  is  present  at  the  council  of 
God,  and  hears  him  ask  the  angels  what  is  the  cause  of 
all  the  wickedness  which  exists  on  earth ;  he  is  told 
that  it  is  the  fault  of  the  bad  kings  who  reign  in  the 
world.  •  But  who  are  these  kings  ?  for  I  know  them 
not.'  The  emperor  Louis  and  his  son  Lotharius  then 
appear,  and  God  tells  them  that  they  must  obey  the 
church,  if  they  wish  to  preserve  their  crowns.  J  One 
of  the  most  celeljrated  French  legends  is  that  of  the 
vision  of  Charles  the  Bald.  One  night  he  saw  before 
him  a  figure  dressed  in  white,  which  placed  in  his  hand 
the  end  of  a  thread  that  seemed  to  be  all  of  fire,  and 
ordered  him  to  follow  it.  He  thus  enters  the  infernal 
labyrinth,  where  he  witnesses  the  punishment  of  bish- 
ops who  had  misused  the  authority  given  to  them  by 
their  clerical  character;  passing  through  tlie  midst  of 
molten  lead,  he  hears  dreadful  lamentations,  and  dis- 
tinguishes these  words :  — 'The  punishment  of  the  great 
is  great.'  In  purgatory,  he  sees  his  father,  Louis, 
plunged  in  boiling  water.  At  last,  the  heavens  open, 
and  his  grandfather  Lothaire  appears,  and  predicts  to 
him  the  fall  of  his  race  and  his  own  abdication.  ^  In 
these  legends  we  are  particularly  struck  by  the  courage 


*  Ampere,  Jlistoire  Litteraire  de  France,  Tom.  III.,  p.  283. 
t  Ibid.,  Tom.  III.,  p.  117. 
I  Ibid.,  Tom.  III.,  p.  119. 
^  Ibid.,  Tom.  III.,  p.  120, 


THE    DIVINA  COMMEDIA.  147 

with  which  the  vices  and  crimes  of  the  great  were 
attacked  by  their  contemporaries ;  they  formed  the 
morality  of  histoiy.  But,  this  opposition  to  the  en- 
croachments or  abuse  of  power  not  only  existed  in 
the  legends  of  France ;  it  passed  into  the  church, 
and  mass  was  said  against  tyrants,  missa  contra  tyrant 
nos. 

In  England  and  Ireland,  we  find  two  very  celebrated 
legends,  the  Purgatory  of  St.  Patrick,  and  the  Vision 
of  St.  Tundale.  The  first  mentioned  was  one  of  the 
most  popular  legends  of  the  Middle  Ages.  It  was  well 
known  in  France,  and  was  translated  both  into  ItalJin 
and  Spanish.*  An  English  knight  is  the  hero  of  this 
legend.  He  undertakes  to  visit  purgatory,  and  for  this 
purpose  enters  a  cavern  in  an  island  of  Lake  Dungal, 
which  had  formerly  been  open  to  St.  Patrick.  Hence 
the  legend  is  called  the  Purgatory  of  St.  Patrick.  The 
terrible  threats  of  the  demons  who  strive  to  prevent  him 
from  entering  do  not  intimidate  him ;  he  continues  to 
advance,  and  sees  the  condemned  suffering  the  most 
horrible  punishments.  Some  of  them  are  crucified  or 
devoured  by  serpents  ;  others,  quite  naked,  are  exposed 
to  the  cold  winds  of  winter.  Among  those  thus  tortur- 
ed he  recognizes  many  of  his  friends  and  companions. 
At  last  he  comes  to  a  narrow  bridge  thrown  over  the 
abyss ;  as  he  approaches,  it  grows  wider,  and  he  is  en- 
abled to  pass.     He  then  enters  the  garden  of  Eden, 


*  Calderon  adapted  this  legend  to  the  stage,  and  as  late  as 
1764  we  find  the  ballad  of  La  Cuera  de  San  Patricio  published 
at  Madrid.  There  is  on  this  subject  a  learned  essay  in  English 
by  Mr  Wright. 


c 


148  THE    SOURCES    OF 

peopled  by  those  who  are  not  sufficiently  pure  to  enter 
the  kingdom  of  God,  and  lastly  he  sees  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  in  all  its  effulgence.  Then  he  returns  to  the  world, 
where  he  lives  a  better  life  than  he  had  previously  done. 
The  vision  of  St.  Tundale,  and  that  of  the  Northum- 
brian, Dritheim,  are  very  similar  to  that  of  St.  Patrick, 
and  wc  shall  therefore  not  attempt  to  analyze  them.* 
The  legend  of  St.  Brendan  deserves,  however,  to  be 
noticed.  It  is  one  of  tiie  most  curious  of  all  the  le- 
gends of  the  Middle  Ages.  St,  Brendan  had  left  the 
island  of  Erin  in  search  of  the  land  promised  to  those 
\^o  should  lead  a  holy  life.  After  haying  seen  the 
island  called  the  Paradise  of  Birds,  —  the  abode  of 
those  half- fallen  angels  who  neither  took  part  with  Satan 
nor  resisted  his  audacious  undertaking,  —  he  discovers 
hell,  whose  volcanic  summit  rises  above  the  ocean. 
He  here  sees  Judas,  who  betrayed  the  Lord,  and  to 
whom  in  his  infinite  mercy  Christ  has  granted  one  day 
of  respite  from  his  sufferings.  At  last,  he  discovers  the 
terrestrial  paradise  that  he  was  looking  for,  and  then 
returns  to  his  country.  Dante  was  unquestionably  ac- 
quainted with  this  legend,  for  among  all  the  poetic 
effusions  of  the  Middle  Ages  not  one  was  better  known. 
It  was  popular  as  late  as  the  sixteeenth  century,  for  at 
the  time  of  Luther  many  rich  men  were  ruined  by  the 
immense  sums  of  money  they  expended  in  order  to 
discover  the  unknown  country  of  St.  Brendan.  This 
apocryphal  land  also  figures  in  a  diplomatic  negotiation 
between  Spain  and  Portugal;  and  in  1721,  we  find  a 

*  See  the  Vision  of  St.  Tundale,  published  by  Mr.  Turnbull, 
Edinburgh,  1843  j  and  that  of  Driihelm  in  Bede,  Hist.  Ecchs., 
Lib.  v.,  c.  13. 


THE   DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  149 

ship  sailing  from  Spain  in  the  direction  of  the  Canary 
Islands,  in  search  of  this  fabulous  island.  * 

There  are  but  few  religious  legends  to  be  found  in  the 
annals  of  Spain.  The  romantic  and  chivalric  ballads 
so  popular  in  that  country  excluded  all  other  poetry. 
The  Cid  had  too  much  to  do  on  earth  to  be  able  to  visit 
the  mysteries  of  another  world  ;  and  it  is  worthy  of 
remark,  that,  instead  of  transporting  him  to  heaven,  as 
other  poets  have  done  with  their  heroes,  Sepulveda,  in 
one  of  his  ballads,  represents  St.  Peter  visiting  him 
thirty  days  before  his  death,  in  order  to  prepare  him 
for  his  end. 

In  the  cursory  view  we  have  taken  of  the  different 
legends  of  European  nations  on  the  subject  of  another 
world,  we  have  now  reached  the  country  of  Dante, 
and,  as  might  be  supposed,  we  find  traditions  which 
must  have  exercised  a  still  greater  influence  on  his 
poem.  He  was  acquainted  with  the  poetic  legends  of 
other  nations  from  the  books  which  he  read,  or  from  the 
narratives  of  travellers  who  had  visited  the  different 
countries  of  Europe.  He  found  those  of  his  native 
land  at  every  step.  During  the  Middle  Ages,  Italy  may 
be  said  to  have  been  itself  a  legend.  If  he  opened  a 
book  which  was  in  every  one's  hand,  the  Fioretti  di  San 
Francesco,  he  must  have  seen  some  of  those  touching 
stories  which  were  related  of  the  holy  man ;  he  must 
have  become  acquainted  with  that  charming  legend  of 


*  M.  Labitte  supposes  that  this  legend  may  have  indirectly 
inspired  Columbus,  and  that  in  the  unknown  land  of  St.  Bren- 
dan, whilst  Dante  sought  for  his  invisible  world,  Columbus 
looked  for  the  New  World. 


« 


150  THE    SOURCES   OF 

three  thieves  who  came  one  day  to  the  monastery  of 
Monte  Casale.  The  porter  had  refused  to  open  the 
gate  to  them  ;  St.  Francis  ordered  him  to  go  and  look 
after  them,  and  when  he  should  Imve  fouml  them  to 
2isk  their  pardon,  and  to  offer  them  bread  and  wine,  at 
the  same  time  recommending  them  to  reform  and  to 
lead  in  future  a  more  holy  life.  The  porter  obeyed, 
and  the  thieres  were  so  much  touched,  that  they  began 
to  reflect  on  the  sinful  life  they  had  hitherto  led,  and 
went  immediately  to  ask  pardon  of  St.  Francis.  He 
received  them,  and  shortly  after  they  took  orders. 
Two  of  them  soon  died,  and  their  souls  went  to  heaven ; 
the  third  survived,  and,  after  doing  penance  for  fifteen 
yeart,  he  one  night  had  a  vision.  He  fancied  that  he 
was  transported  to  the  top  of  a  high  mountain,  to  the 
brink  of  a  precipice  which  filled  his  soul  with  terror. 
The  angel  who  led  the  way  threw  him  into  the  abyss, 
and,  following  him,  ordered  him  to  rise  and  to  come* 
with  him.  They  traversed  a  long  valley,  filled  with 
sharp-pointed  stones,  at  the  end  of  which  a  troop  of 
horrible  demons  seized  upon  him,  and  threw  him  into 
a  blazing  furnace.  When  he  had'  got  out  of  the  fur- 
nace, he  came  to  a  narrow  and  slippery  bridge,  under 
which  was  rolling  a  torrent  full  of  scorpions  and  ser- 
pents. In  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  the  angel  rose  in 
the  air  and  alighted  on  a  mountain.  The  good  thief, 
on  finding  himself  thus  alone,  was  filled  with  terror, 
and,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  he  recommended  himself 
to  God  ;  he  presently  began  to  feel  wings  growing  on 
his  shoulders,  and,  without  waiting  for  them  to  have 
attained  their  full  growth,  he  sought  to  fly.  Twice  he 
fell,  but  at  the  third  attempt  be  succeeded  in  rejoining 


THE   DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  151 

his  companion.  At  this  moment,  St.  Francis,  who  had 
died  a  short  time  previous,  appeared  to  him,  and  intro- 
duced him  into  a  magnificent  palace  ^situated  on  the 
mountain,  where,  having  shown  him  all  the  treasures  it 
contained,  he  ordered  him  to  return  for  seven  days  to 
earth.  The  good  thief  then  awoke  ;  seven  days  after 
this  vision,  he  died.'  * 

When  Dante  visited  the  convent  of  Benedictine 
monks  at  Florence,  he  must  have  found  in  their  library 
the  celebrated  vision  of  Alberic,  who,  having  passed 
through  purgatory,  finds  himself  before  the  dread  tri- 
bunal where  the  human  race  is  finally  judged.  A  sinner 
was  awaiting  his  sentence ;  his  crimes  were  inscribed 
in  a  book  by  the  angel  of  vengeance.  But  in  the  latter 
days  of  his  life,  the  sinner  had  shed  one  tear  of  re- 
pentance ;  it  had  been  gathered  up  by  the  angel  of 
mercy,  who  lets  it  fall  on  the  book,  and  it  effaces  all 
trace  of  what  was  written  there,  t 

But  it  was  not  only  in  the  legendary  and  poetic  tra- 
ditions of  his  country  that  Dante  found  those  doubts 
and  elevated  speculations  respecting  the  particulars  of 
another  life,  which  agitated  the  Middle  Ages.  In  one 
of  the  sermons  of  Gregory  the  Seventh,  which  Dante 
was  doubtless  acquainted  with,  there  is  a  remarkable 
passage  concerning  the  sufferings  which  await  the  sin- 
ner in  another  world.  When,  in  the  little  town  of  Arezzo, 
Gregory,  then   only  cardinal,  preached  this   sermon, 

*  Fioretti  di  San  Francesco,  cap.  25. 

t  This  legend  was  written  by  the  monks  of  Monte  Casale, 
and  published  for  the  first  time  by  JMr.  Cancellieri,  at  Rome,  in 
1818.  It  reminds  one  of  the  beautiful  passage  of  Sterne, 
where  the  recording  angel  washes  out  the  oath  of  Uncle  Toby 
with  a  tear. 


153  THE    SOUBCES    OF 

he  was  not  preoccupied  with  any  poetic  thought ;  his 
aim  was  only  to  convince  his  auditory  that  neither 
prince  nor  baron  could,  with  impunity,  touch  the  pos- 
sessions of  the  church.  In  order  to  attain  his  object, 
he  recounted  the  following  fiction  in  his  sermon.  A 
holy  man  who  had  descended  into  hell  had  there  seen 
a  ladder  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  flames  and  fire  of 
everlasting  justice.  All  the  men  who  belonged  to  the 
family  of  a  certain  German  baron,  who  had  usurped 
the  domains  of  the  church  of  Mentz,  were  condemned 
to  come  on  this  ladder  after  their  death.  The  latest 
comer  placed  himself  on  the  uppermost  step  of  the 
ladder,  and  those  who  had  preceded  him  descended  a 
step,  so  that  one  after  the  other  they  were  plunged  into 
the  horrible  abyss. 

In  the  chronicle  of  Malaspina,  Dante  no  doubt  read 
the  adventure  of  the  Marquis  Hugues  of  Brandenburg, 
who,  having  followed  the  Emperor  Otto  the  Third  to 
Italy,  got  lost,  by  the  visitation  of  God,  in  a  forest,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Florence,  and  there  discovered  a 
forge  in  which  several  men  seemed  to  be  at  work.  But 
he  soon  saw  that  the  workmen  were  quite  black,  and  that 
instead  of  iron,  they  were  beating  human  beings  on  the 
anvil.  He  was  told  that  these  were  condemned  souls, 
and  that  his  would  be  treated  in  the  same  manner,  if 
he  did  not  repent.  On  hearing  this,  the  Marquis  rec- 
ommended himself  to  the  Holy  Virgin,  and  after  his 
return  to  Germany,  he  sold  all  his  property  in  order  to 
found  seven  new  monasteries.* 

The  Dialogues  of  St.  Gregory  the  Great,  however, 

*  Ricordano  Malaspina,  Istoria^  c.  48. 


THE    DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  153 

was  the  classical  book  of  Italian  legendary  literature  ; 
but  it  would  detain  us  too  long  to  analyze  all  the  le- 
gends in  it,  and  others  which  were  in  circulation  in 
Italy.  Those  that  we  have  mentioned  suffice  to  show 
the  spirit  of  the  religious  poetry  of  that  country.  They 
are  full  of  that  energy  so  natural  to  Italian  poetry  of 
all  ages,  but  at  the  same  time  a  spirit  of  mildness  per- 
vades them,  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  legends  of 
Germany  or  of  France.  The  higher  degree  of  civil- 
ization of  Italy,  and  the  vast  authority  which  the  Catho- 
lic faith  had  in  that  land,  naturally  imparted  more  of 
the  mild  and  humble  spirit  of  the  gospel  to  its  poetry. 
The  visions  of  paradise  are  more  numerous  than  in 
the  more  barbarous  countries  of  the  North,  and  it  may 
safely  be  said  that  such  legends  as  that  of  Alberic 
could  have  been  found  in  no  other  country  than  Italy. 
We  havd  now  seen  liow  much  the  works  of  the  an- 
cients and  those  of  the  Middle  Ages  contributed  to- 
wards the  formation  of  the  Divina  Commedia.  But 
there  remains  yet  another  source  from  which  Dante 
may  have  drawn  much  of  his  inspiration.  During 
those  ages  when  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  prevailed 
universally,  the  mysteries  of  a  future  state  were  not 
only  celebrated  by  poets  and  men  of  letters  ;  they  were 
sculptured  by  the  great  artists  of  tne  time.  The  ca- 
thedrals which  then  rose  up,  as  if  by  magic,  in  all  parts 
of  Europe,  were  filled  with  images  of  another  world. 
It  is  impossible  that  Dante  should  have  entered  any  of 
the  churches  of  Pisa  or  Rome  without  being  powerfully 
impressed  by  all  that  surrounded  him.  On  the  doors 
of  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  di  Orvieto,  he  must  have 
seen   the  bas-reliefs  sculptured   by  Nicholas  of  Pisa, 


154  THE    SOURCES    OF 

aided  by  some  German  workmen,  in  whicii  the  artist 
had  represented  the  last  judgment,  the  joys  of  paradise 
and  the  tortures  of  hell.  It  was  very  common  thus  to 
represent  on  the  exterior  of  great  religious  monuments 
the  visions  of  a  future  state  ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  artist 
wished  the  passer-by  to  be  struck  by  the  spectacle  of 
the  sufferings  which  awaited  him  if  he  erred  from  the 
right  path  in  this  world,  and  thus  to  induce  him  to  enter 
the  church,  there  to  prostrate  himself  before  the  altar, 
and  humbly  to  acknowledge  his  frailty.  If  he  actually 
entered,  another  spectacle  immediately  caught  his  eye  ; 
consolation  seemed  to  surround  him  on  all  sides.  On 
the  stained  glass  of  the  windows,  he  discovered  the 
holy  virgins  who  had  suffered  martyrdom  ;  and  above 
the  organ  he  saw  the  rose,  which  generally  represented 
the  nine  choruses  of  angels  surrounding  the  throne  of 
God.* 

But  the  imaginative  people  of  those  times  would  not 
have  been  satisfied  to  behold  these  supernatural  images 
merely  carved  in  stone  or  marble.  They  wished  to 
see  them  animated,  and  a  soul  breathed  into  them. 
Hence  those  Mysteries  in  which  the  legends  of  the 
wise  and  foolish  virgins,  or  the  history  of  the  Virgin, 
were  performed.  A  Mystery  representing  the  infernal 
regions  was  acted  at  Florence  in  1304,  at  the  foot  of 

•  It  was,  no  doubt,  in  visiting  some  charch  that  Dante  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  representing  heaven  in  the  form  of  a  rose, 
on  the  leaves  of  which  were  seated  the  blessed. 
'  In  forma  dunque  di  Candida  rosa 
Mi  si  mostrava  la  milizia  santa, 
Che  nel  suo  sangue  Cristo  fece  sposa.' 

Paradiso,  Canto  XXXI. 


THE    DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  155 

the  bridge,  alia  Carraia.  Demons  were  seen  perse- 
cuting tlic  condemned.  The  number  of  persons  as- 
sembled on  the  bridge  caused  it  to  give  way,  and  a 
great  many  were  drowned.  *  Thus,'  says  Villani, '  what 
was  announced  as  a  mere  amusement  became  a  reality, 
and  many  persons  actually  went  to  visit  the  invisible 
world,'  * 

The  subject  that  Dante  chose  was,  as  we  have  seen, 
far  from  being  original.  Like  all  men  of  genius,  he 
understood,  that,  to  be  illustrious,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
work  with  materials  which  have  never  before  been 
used,  but  that  the  only  subjects  worthy  the  meditations 
and  the  labors  of  a  great  n»ind  are  those  which  have  at 
all  times  agitated  the  human  heart,  and  filled  it  with 
the  strongest  emotions.  The  materials  of  the  Divina 
Commedia  were  everywhere  to  be  found.  Dante  was 
surrounded  by  images  which  awakened  and  kept  alive 
in  him  the  habit  of  meditating  on  these  awful  subjects. 
The  prophecies  and  visions  of  futurity  were  scattered 
throughout  Europe  ;  they  only  required  that  a  master 
mind  should  appear,  capable  of  embodying  them  in 
one  great  poem.  Dante  appeared ;  from  his  very 
youth  he  had  deeply  meditated  the  problem  of  human 
destiny,  and  in  the  life  of  an  exile,  where  he  had  learnt 
'  how  salt  is  the  bread  of  others,  and  how  hard  the 
road  is  going  up  and  down  the  stairs   of  others,'  he 

*  Villani,  Storia.  Dante  was  already  banished  from  his  na- 
tive land  when  this  Mystery  was  performed.  It  is  nevertheless 
probable,  that  this  tragical  event  may  have  had  some  influence 
on  his  ardent  imagination,  and  some  persons  have  even  gone 
so  far  as  to  suppose  that  this  Mystery  first  gave  rise  to  his  im-  ■ 
mortal  poem. 


156  THE    SOURCES    OF 

acquired  that  strength  of  character  and  power  of 
thought  which  adversity  alone  can  give,  and  without 
which  even  the  man  of  genius  cannot  bring  forth  all 
that  his  intelligence  conceives.  Nothing  was  wanting 
but  to  decide  the  moment  when  he  should  commence 
his  great  undertaking.     This  moment  was  at  hand. 

On  the  21st  of  February,  1300,  Boniface  the  Eighth 
published  a  bull  granting  plenary  indulgence  to  all 
those  who  should  visit  the  tombs  of  the  blessed  apostles 
St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  during  a  fortnight.  The  capital 
of  the  Christian  world  was  thronged  with  strangers 
from  all  parts  of  Europe.  Not  less  than  two  millions 
of  persons  are  said  to  hav«  visited  Rome  during  this 
period.  Among  the  strangers  who  then  went  to  that 
city  were  two  Florentines,  both  of  whom  were  forcibly 
struck  by  this  extraordinary  spectacle.  One  of  them  was 
Giovanni  Villani,  who  there  first  conceived  the  plan  of 
his  great  historical  work ;  *  the  other  was  Dante,  t 
who,  amazed  and  confounded  at  the  sight  of  this  vast 
multitude  crowding  round  the  tombs  of  the  two  great 
apostles,  to  seek  for  the  pardon  of  their  sins,  then  re- 
solved to  put  in  execution  the  plan  he  had  so  long  med- 
itated. He  felt  how  much  he  required  the  pardon  of 
his  own  faults,  for  he  too  '  had  lost  the  straight  path.' 
He  resolved  to  repent,  and  to  make  known  his  repent- 
ance to  the  world ;  he  determined  to  write  the  Divina 

• 

•  Storia  Fiurentina. 

t  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Dante  was  at  Rome  at  this 
lime.  We  know  that  he  was  several  limes  intrusted  with  di- 
plomatic missions  to  the  papal  court,  and  many  passages  of  his 
poem  prove  that  he  was  an  eye-witness  of  the  imposing  spec- 
tacle of  the  Jubilee. 


THE    DIVINA   COMMEDIA.  157 

Commcdia.  Thus,  having  for  years  studied  the  works 
of  the  ancients,  and  the  poetic  legends  of  his  own 
times,  having  long  meditated  upon  the  mysteries  of 
eternal  life,  a  single  event  sufficed  to  induce  him  to 
commence  his  immortal  task.  The  death  of  Beatrice 
had  first  given  him  the  idea  of  describing  the  terrors 
and  felicities  of  another  world  ;  the  Jubilee  of  1300 
filled  his  soul  with  that  ardent  faith  and  spirit  of  peni- 
tence so  necessary  for  the  execution  of  this  design. 
Thus  it  is  with  the  man  of  genius;  events  which  to 
ordinary  minds  bear  no  peculiar  stamp  impress  his  im- 
agination ;  and  things,  which  seem  in  general  to  be  of 
no  importance,  receive  from  him  a  life  which  they  did 
not  before  possess.  Michael  Angelo  could  shape  the 
rude  stone  into  a  Venus  or  an  Apollo  ;  Dante  could 
compose  the  Divina  Commedia  out  of  the  discordant 
materials  which  he  collected,  and  make  the  world  forget 
the  sources  from  which  he  had  gathered  them,  till  the 
curious  researches  of  a  later  generation  should  again 
rescue  them  from  oblivion. 


JASMIN,    THE   BARBER    POET.* 


Las  Papillotas  !  Such  is  the  title  of  the  two 
volumes  of  poetry  we  have  before  us  —  a  title  which 
would  be  singular  indeed,  if  it  were  not  accounted  for 
by  the  profession  of  the  author.  Jasmin  is,  indeed,  a 
coiffeur,  and  performs  the  menial  offices  of  his  pro- 
fession with  all  the  accuracy  of  a  Figaro ;  but  when 
his  work  is  done,  he  does  not,  like  so  many  of  the 
brotherhood,  spend  liis  time  in  laying  in  a  stock  of 
scandal  and  gossip,  which  he  may  retail  the  next 
morning,  when  standing  behind  the  chair  of  some  fair 
lady,  whose  chief  delight  it  often  is,  to  listen  to  such 
stories.  No !  Jasmin,  when  he  has  laid  aside  his 
razors  and  his  curling-tongs,  devotes  to  the  Muses  his 
hours  of  leisure.  This  contrast  between  the  vulgar 
occupation  of  the  poet  of  Agen,  and  the  truly  beautiful 
poetry  we  find  in  his  works,  is  particularly  striking,  in 
an  age  when  poetry  seems  to  have  sought  a  refuge  in 
the  higher  classes  of  society,  and  to  have  become 
rather  the  passetenu  of  the  man  of  fortune  than  the 
conscientious  expression  of  a  popular  feeling.     The 

♦  Las  Papillotas  de  Jasmin  Coiffeur,  Membre  de  la  Societal 
de  Sciences  ct  Arts  d'Agen.    Agen :  1835,  1842.    2  vols  8vo. 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  159 

class  of  poets  to  which  Jasmin  belongs  is,  at  present, 
very  limited.  He  is  essentially  a  popular  poet.  Sprung 
from  the  lower  orders  of  society,  an  artisan  himself,  he 
has,  in  all  his  poetic  effusions,  addressed  himself  to 
the  muhitude,  not  to  the  select  few.  In  former  times 
it  was  not  uncommon  to  find  a  poet  thus  devoted  to  the 
entertainment  and  to  the  instruction  of  the  crowd. 
Judging  of  past  ages,  by  means  of  that  knowledge 
of  general  facts  which  history  affords  —  for  history 
deigns  not  to  descend  into  the  details  of  every  private 
life  —  we  almost  fancy  that  there  was  a  time  when 
poetry  circulated  in  the  world,  as  freely  as  the  air  we 
breathe,  —  when  every  man  was  a  poet,  if  not  to 
create,  at  least  to  understand  and  to  feel.  When  the 
atmosphere  is  full  of  mists  and  vapors,  objects  seen  at 
a  distance  appear  larger  than  nature ;  so  when  we 
look  back  into  the  past,  things  become  magnified,  and 
we  involuntarily  exaggerate  their  dimensions.  It  is 
perhaps  thus  in  the  present  case ;  but  yet  we  think  it 
may  be  said,  that  among  the  ancients,  as  well  as 
during  the  middle  ages,  poetry  was  more  widely  dif- 
fused, and  had  a  more  direct  and  powerful  influence 
on  the  destinies  of  mankind,  than  it  has  in  modern 
times.  The  distance  which  separated  the  poet  from 
those  who  listened  to  his  verses,  was  then  less  great 
Between  them  there  seemed  to  be  established  an 
electric  chain.  He  often  borrowed  from  the  people 
images,  which  he  returned,  after  having  given  to  them 
a  new  lustre,  a  new  brilliancy,  as  the  glass  refracts 
the  rays  of  the  sun  with  increased  intensity.  The 
earlier  Greek  bards  went  from  place  to  place  reciting 
their  verses,  until  they  became  indelibly  engraved  in 


160  JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET. 

the  hearts  of  their  hearers.  In  the  middle  ages,  the 
minstrel,  or  the  troubadour,  was  the  favorite  of  all 
classes.  In  the  castle  of  the  feudal  baron,  he  would 
arouse  the  ardent  and  chivalrous  spirit  of  the  guests 
assembled  around  the  festive  board,  by  the  recital  of 
the  noble  exploits  of  Arthur  and  his  barons,  or  the 
valor  of  those  devoted  Christians,  who  crossed  the  seas 
to  rescue  the  sepulchre  of  their  Saviour  from  an  infidel 
foe ;  or  else  he  would  bewail,  in  strains  so  pathetic, 
the  untimely  fate  of  some  fair  maiden,  that  every  eye 
would  be  moistened  with  tears  of  pity  and  compassion. 
But  it  was  not  alone  in  the  mansions  of  the  great,  that 
the  voice  of  the  poet  was  heard.  The  peasant,  too, 
would  lend  an  ear  to  his  songs,  and  himself  repeat 
them,  to  beguile  the  weary  hours  of  labor;  and,  alasl 
how  weary  must  those  hours  have  been,  when  he 
knew  that  it  was  not  he  who  was  to  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  this  labor,  but  his  tyrannical  master.  How  different 
is  the  occupation  of  the  poet  in  our  own  times  !  Shut 
up  in  the  narrow  confines  of  a  densely  populated  city, 
or  at  best,  inhabiting  some  country-seat,  in  which  he  is 
fortunate  indeed,  if,  at  every  hour  of  the  day,  the 
shrill  whistle  of  a  railroad  train  does  not  break  in  upon 
his  meditations,  the  only  means  he  possesses  of  acting 
on  his  fellow-men,  is  the  press  —  a  powerful  engine 
indeed,  but  how  inferior,  when  the  heart  is  to  be 
touched,  to  the  varied  tones  of  the  poet's  voice  when 
lie  recites  his  own  verses.  The  poet,  now,  is  the 
invisible  being  who  sets  the  puppets  on  the  stage  in 
motion ;  in  former  days  he  was  himself  the  actor. 
We  may  indeed  be  touched  by  the  thoughts  which  he 
he  expresses,  for  there  is  a  secret  harmony  between 


JASMIN,    THE    BARBER   POET.  Iffl 

(lifTcrcnt  minds,  which  enables  them  to  communicate 
without  any  material  intermediary ;  but  still,  we  think 
that  the  poet,  who  addressed  himself  directly  to  the 
public,  could  more  easily  awaken  deep  emotions  in  the 
breast  of  his  hearers.  Let  us  not,  however,  be  mis- 
apprehended.  We  would  not  be  understood  to  express 
a  regret  for  the  past.  This  is  but  a  simple  statement 
of  facts.  We  belong  not  to  that  class  of  worshippers 
of  all  that  is  gone  by,  who,  in  their  admiration  for 
what  no  longer  exists,  forget  the  beauties  and  the 
blessings  of  the  present  hour.  The  progress  of  civili- 
zation modifies  everything.  Poetry,  in  an  age  of 
material  improvement,  and  of  scientific  discovery, 
cannot  be  the  same  as  in  an  age  when  love  and 
war  seemed  alone  to  reign  in  the  world.  But  it  may 
still,  it  does  still  exist,  although  modified  in  its  mani- 
festation. At  a  period  of  high  intellectual  culture, 
poetry  must,  of  course,  partake  in  some  degree  of  the 
philosophical  spirit  of  the  times.  Happy  then,  when  it 
does  not  take  the  form  of  the  stately  and  almost 
supernatural  indifference  of  a  Goethe,  or  the  im- 
passioned scepticism  of  a  Byron !  But  even  in  these 
ages  of  improved  civilization,  the  simple  voice  of  pure 
and  natural  poety  is  still  at  times  heard.  In  an  age  of 
poUtical  and  social  reform,  like  our  own,  when  all  the 
idols  of  the  past  are  falling,  one  by  one,  to  the  ground, 
there  are  still  some  poets,  whose  poetry  flows  on  in 
a  calm  and  tranquil  stream,  and  fills  the  soul  with 
nought  but  pure  and  healthful  instructions.  Nature 
delights  in  these  contrasts.  In  a  barren  soil,  she,  at 
times,  brings  forth  flowers ;  at  the  foot  of  the  glaciers, 
she  places  verdant  meadows  and  genial  springs,  as  if 
11 


162  JASMIN,    THE    BAHBER  f  OET. 

to  show  that,  even  when  she  seems  to  have  become 
extinct,  she  can,  by  the  secret  forces  of  which  shells 
the  mistress,  arise  with  renovated  vigor.  Thus  in 
ages  of  comparative  barbarity,  sjie  often  unexpectedly 
bursts  forth  with  astonishing  force  and  brilliancy ;  and 
in  ages  when  civilization  seems  to  have  reached  so 
high  a  pinnacle,  as  to  leave  nothing  more  for  her  to 
do,  she  still  asserts  her  power,  and  shows  that  she  is 
greater  than  civilization.  She  is  not  particular  either 
about  the  garb  in  which  genius  is  clothed.  She  often 
spurns  the  vase  of  pure  and  elegant  form,  and  pours 
her  richest  gifts  into  a  recipient  of  more  homely  shape 
and  material.  High  intellectual  culture  is  not  always 
the  necessary  companion  of  genius.  It  is  not  alone  by 
the  contemplation  and  study  of  masterpieces,  that  the 
poet  is  enabled  to  produce  works  of  which  he  may 
say,  with  the  great  Roman  poet, 

'  Exegi  monumentum  aere  perennius.' 

Imitation  is  useless.  The  poet  may,  it  is  true, 
borrow  from  others,  but  even  that  which  he  borrows 
must  be  new — created  within  him,  if  it  is  to  go  forth 
in  a  poetic  form.  He  must  surround  liimself  by  that 
spiritual  solitude,  in  which  the  voice  of  the  world  tn&y 
yet  be  heard,  but  in  which  it  only  reaches  him  in  a 
purer  and  more  hallowed  tone.  Such  a  poet  may  well 
be  found  in  the  lower  ranks  of  society.  There  is, 
indeed,  a  youthful  force  and  vigor  of  intellect  in  those 
whose  faculties  have  not  been  wasted  on  too  vast  a 
number  of  objects.  Their  thoughts  are  concentrated 
on  some  few  great  points.  Unincumbered  by  the 
immense  mass  of  knowledge  which  ages  have  accumu- 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  163 

lated,  they  can,  when  genius  lends  them  wings,  take 
the  most  bold  and  lofty  flights.  Such  a  child  of  nature 
is  Jasmin,  the  barber  poet. 

Jaqucs  Jasmin,  or  Jaqueon  Jansemin,  (as  he  is 
called  in  his  native  gatois,)  was  born  in  the  year  1787 
or  1788  at  Agen.  His  father  was  a  tailor,  who, 
although  he  did  not  know  how  to  write,  composed 
almost  all  the  principal  couplets  which  were  sung  in 
the  popular  festivities  of  the  neighboring  country. 
Jaques'  father  and  mother  were  both  poor,  but  he 
was  as  happy  as  a  prince  when  he  was  a  child,  for  he 
had  not  yet  learnt  the  meaning  of  those  two  words  — 
rich  and  poor.  Until  the  age  of  ten,  he  spent  almost 
all  his  time  in  the  open  air,  playing  with  his  little 
companions  or  cutting  wood.  In  the  long  winter 
evenings,  he  would  sit  at  the  family  fireside  on  his 
grandfather's  knee  and  listen  to  those  wonderful  stories 
which  we  all  have -heard  as  children,  but  which  in  the 
child  of  genius  may  be  said  to  be  the  first  cause 
which  develops  the  poetic  inspiration  with  which  he 
is  endowed.  But  these  happy  days  could  not  last. 
One  day,  as  he  was  playing  in  the  street,  he  saw 
his  grandfather  taken  to  the  hospital,  '  Why  have 
you  left  us  ?  Where  are  you  going  ? '  were  the  boy's 
questions  at  this  melancholy  sight.  '  To  the  hospital,' 
was  the  reply ;  '  it  is  there  that  the  Jansemins  must 
die.'  Five  days  afterwards  the  old  man  was  no  more. 
From  that  time  Jasmin  knew  how  poor  he  was.  How- 
bitter  was  this  experience  to  him  !  He  felt  no  longer 
any  interest  in  his  childish  pastimes.  As  he  has 
himself  beautifully  expressed  it,  if  anything  drew  from 
him  a  smile,  it  was  but  like  tlie  pale  rays  of  the  sun 


164  JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET. 

on  a  rainy  day.  One  morning,  however,  he  saw  his 
mother  with  a  smiling  countenance.  What  then  had 
happened?  Slie  had  succcilcil  in  iraininir  admittance 
for  him  in  a  charity  school.  In  six  nioiitlis  afterwards 
he  could  read  ;  in  six  months  more,  he  could  assist  in 
the  celehration  of  mass;  in  another  six  months,  he 
could  sing  the  Tantum  ergo,  and  in  two  years  from 
the  time  when  he  first  went  to  school  he  was  admitted 
into  a  seminary.  Here,  however,  he  remained  but 
six  months.  He  was  expelled  from  thence  on  account 
of  a  rather  suspicious  adventure  with  a  peasant  jzirl,  and 
perhaps  still  more  because  he  had  eaten  some  sweet- 
meats belonging  to  the  director  of  the  establishment. 
The  despair  of  his  family  was  great  at  this  unexpected 
event,  for  they  had  been  furnished  with  bread  at  least 
once  a  week  from  the  seminary.  They  were  now 
without  money  and  without  bread !  But  what  will  a 
mother  not  do  for  her  children  !  His  mother  had  a 
ring  —  her  wedding  ring:  she  sold  it,  and  the  children 
had  bread  once  more,  at  least  for  a  few  days.  He 
was  now  to  learn  a  trade  ;  he  became  the  apprentice 
of  a  hair-dresser,  and  as  soon  as  he  could,  opened 
a  shop.  His  skill  as  a  coiffeur,  and,  we  may  add,  the 
charming  verses  which  he  had  already  composed,  soon 
brought  him  customers.  He  married,  and  his  wife, 
who  at  first  objected  to  his  wastiiiL:  his  time  in  \vriting 
poetry,  soon  urged  him  to  do  so  wlicn  she  found  that 
this  employment  was  likely  to  be  profitable.  He  has 
since  then  been  able  to  buy  the  house  in  which  he 
lives.  The  first,  perhaps,  of  his  family,  he  has  ex- 
perienced that  feeling  of  inward  satisfaction  wliieli  the 
right  of  possession  is  so  apt  to  confer,  when  it   has 


JASMIN,    THE    BARBER    POET.  165 

been  purchased  by  the  meritorious  labors  of  the  hand 
and  the  head.  He  now  enjoys  that  honest  mediocrity 
which  seems  to  be  the  height  of  his  worldly  ambition. 
Such  are  the  only  circumstances  of  Jasmin's  life  which 
we  have  been  able  to  gather  from  the  poetical  auto- 
biography entidcd,  '  Mons  Souhenis.''  The  life  of  a 
poet  is  not  always  interesting.  Not  unfrequently,  its 
most  striking  features  are  the  poetic  flowers  he  has 
himself  strewed  on  his  path. 

We  have  already  said  that  Jasmin  was  a  popular 
poet.  To  be  this,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  it  is 
necessary  to  speak  the  language  of  the  people.  This 
Jasmin  has  understood.  With  the  exception  of  two  or 
three  pieces  in  the  collection  we  have  before  us,  all 
his  poems  are  written  in  his  native  patois.  But  he  not 
only  makes  use  of  this  language,  he  defends  it  against 
all  attacks  as  the  last  distinguishing  mark  between  his 
countrymen  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  rest  of  France. 
Among  his  poems,  there  is  a  reply  to  the  discourse  of 
a  Mr.  Dumon,  member  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  in 
which  that  gentleman,  after  having  paid,  it  is  true,  a 
just  tribute  to  the  genius  of  the  Gascon  poet,  said  that 
it  was  not  even  desirable  that  the  patois  should  be 
maintained.  The  reply  of  Jasmin  is  full  of  an  ardent 
patriotic  spirit,  and  is  a  noble  defence  of  his  native 
language. 

'  The  greatest  misfortune,'  he  says,  '  which  can  befall  a 
man  in  this  world,  is  to  see  an  aged  mother,  sick  and  infirm, 
stretched  out  on  her  bed  and  given  over  by  the  doctors.  At 
her  pillow,  which  we  do  not  leave  for  an  instant,  our  eye 
fixed  on  hers  and  our  hand  in  her  hand,  we  may  for  a  day 
revive  her  languishing  spirits ;   but  alas !    she  lives  to-day 


166  JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET. 

but  to  die  to-morrow  !  This  is  not  the  case,  however,  with 
that  enchantress,  that  nnr.sical  laiifjnaffe,  our  second  mother; 
learned  Frenchmen  have  sentenced  her  to  death  for  the  last 
three  hundred  years,  but  she  still  lives;  her  words  still 
resound.     Seasons  pass  by  her,  and  hundreds  of  tliousands 

•will  yet  pass.* Tiiis  language  is  the  language 

of  labor;  in  the  city  and  in  the  country,  it  may  be  found 
in  every  house.  It  takes  man  at  the  cradle  and  leads 
him  on  to  the  tomb.     Oh,  such  a  language  is  not  easily 

destroyed Relieve  us  from  our  sufferings, 

but  leave  us  our  language!  We  like  to  sing  even  in  the 
midst  of  distress.      It  seems  as  if  in  singing  tlie  gall  of 

grief  became  less  bitter But  the  honor  of 

the  country  demands  it;  we  will  learn  French:  it  is  our 
language,  too;  we  are  Frenchmen.  Let  the  people  learn  it. 
They  will  then  have  two  languages,  one  for  the  sansfa^n, 
the  other  for  making  visits.' 

♦  We  give  the  first  two  strophes  of  this  poem  in  the  original, 
as  an  example  of  the  language  and  style  of  Jasmin  :  — 

L'on  pu  grand  possomen  que  truque  I'homme,  aci, 
Aco  quand  nosiro  may,  bieillo,  feblo,  desfeyto, 

S'arremozo  tonto,  et  s'allioyto, 

Conndannado  pel  medici. 
A  soun  triste  cabes  que  jamay  l'on  non-  quitto, 
L'el  sur  son  el  et  la  ma  dins  sa  ma, 
Ponden-be,  per  un  jour  rebiscoula  sa  bilo  ; 
Mais  helas !  aney  bion  per  s'escanti  donraa. 
N'es  pas  atal,  Monssu,  d'aquelo  ensourcillayro 
D'aquelo  longo  muzicayro 
Nostro  segundo  may  ;  de  saben  francimans. 
La  conndannon  a  mort  dezunpey  tres  cens  ans  ; 
Tapla  bion  saquela  ;  tapla  sons  mots  brounzinon  ; 
Ches  elo,  las  sazons  passon,  sonen,  tindinen  ; 
El  cent-milo-miles  enquero  y  passaren, 

Sounaran,  et  tindinaran. 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  167 

There  is  indeed  no  vestige  of  its  ancient  indepen- 
dence, to  which  a  nation  clings  more  eagerly  than  to 
its  language.  It  has  always  been  the  endeavor  of 
conquerors  to  destroy  the  national  language  of  a  con- 
quered nation,  as  the  only  means  of  becoming  entirely 
its  master.  And  in  truth,  what  can  be  more  precious 
to  a  people,  which  has  lost  its  independence,  than  to 
refer  to  its  days  of  freedom  in  the  language  of  its 
fathers  ?  When  once  this  tie,  which  binds  it  to  the 
past,  is  destroyed,  but  little  remains  of  its  primitive 
character.  The  differences  between  languages  are  not 
arbitrary ;  they  are  the  expression  of  the  individual 
genius  of  the  nation  to  whom  they  belong.  And  yet 
there  are  men,  in  this  age  of  wild  Utopian  schemes, 
who,  in  order  to  carry  out  their  ideas  of  social  reform, 
would  wish  to  leave  but  one  common  language  to 
mankind.  We  say  nothing  of  the  practicability  of 
such  a  project,  —  which  could  not  even  be  executed 
by  the  means  which  the  tyrannical  government  of  a 
half  civilized  country  employs  to  extirpate  the  lan- 
guage of  the  unfortunate  Poles,  —  but  the  very  idea  is 
monstrous  in  itself.  Those  barbarians,  who  poured 
into  Europe  at  the  downfall  of  the  Roman  empire, 
have  been  accused  of  vandalism  because  they  de- 
stroyed the  monuments  of  art  which  they  found  on 
their  road.  But  what  was  their  vandalism,  when  com- 
pared with  that  of  these  modem  innovators  ?  To 
destroy  all  the  different  dialects  of  the  world  to  make 
room  for  one  common  language,  is  not  only  to  destroy 
all  the  masterpieces  of  the  past,  but  to  cut  in  the 
blossom  all  future  literature.  Instead  of  the  beautiful 
and  varied  form,  which  human  thought  now  assumes 


168  JASMIN,  THE  BARBEE  POET. 

according  to  the  language  in  which  it  is  expressed,  we 
should  have  but  one  stereotyped,  monotonous  and  uni- 
form literature,  which  would  itself  soon  die  for  want  of 
any  impulse  or  stimulus  from  without.  Fortunately, 
however,  there  is  nothing  to  be  feared  on  this  ground. 
You  may  persecute  a  popular  dialect  and  endeavor  to 
stifle  it  in  its  growth,  it  will  still  come  forth,  even  as 
the  wild  flower  at  times  springs  up  in  the  cultivated 
soil.  Wales  has  been  for  centuries  subject  to  England, 
and  Brittany  to  France,  and  yet  they  have  maintained 
their  original  dialect.  Even  at  this  day  the  Welshman 
and  the  peasant  of  la  Basse  Bretagne  understand  each 
other  better  than  they  would  understand  those  whom 
they  call  their  countrymen.  And  the  Gascon  patois, 
against  which"  innumerable  regulations  have  been 
made,  which  is  forbidden  to  be  spoken  in  the  schools 
of  Gascony,  can  still  make  itself  heard  through  the 
voice  of  Jasmin.  He  can  say  of  his  maternal  dialect, 
notwithstanding  the  persecutions  to  which  it  has  been 
subjected,  what  Galileo  said  of  the  earth :  E  pur  si 
muoi^e. 

The  two  finest  poems  of  Jasmin  are  unquestionably, 
'■VAhuglo  de  Caslel-Cueille;  (The  Blind  Girl  of 
Castel-Cuellie,)  and  Frangonneto*  The  first  is  the 
touching  story  of  a  poor  blind  orphan.  The  first  canto 
opens  with  the  description  of  the  preparations  for  a 
country  wedding.  '  At  the  foot  of  that  high  mountain 
where  stands  Castcl-Cueille,  at  the  season  when  the 
fruit  begins  to  ripen  on  the  trees,  this  song  was  heard  on 

*  The  first  of  these  two  poems  has  been  translated  into 
English  v'rse  by  Lady  Georgina  Fullerlon 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  169 

a  Wednesday,  the  eve  of  St.  Joseph's  day.  The  paths 
should  bear  flowers,  so  lovely  a  bride  is  about  to  go 
forth  ;  they  should  bear  flowers,  they  should  bear  fruits, 
so  lovely  a  bride  is  about  to  pass.'  The  bride  and  Bap- 
tists, her  intended,  are  going,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  country,  to  gather  branches  of  laurel  to  scatter 
before  the  door  of  the  church  and  before  the  houses  of 
the  guests.  But  the  bridegroom  is  silent ;  he  speaks 
not  to  Angele  ;  he  caresses  her  not.  *  On  seeing  them 
so  cold,  so  indifferent,  you  would  think  they  were  great 
folks  ! '  The  sadness  of  Baptiste  is  not,  however, 
without  a  cause.  His  affections  are  elsewhere  engaged. 
At  the  foot  of  the  hill  lives  the  young  and  tender  Mar- 
garet, the  prettiest  girl  in  the  village.  Baptiste  was  her 
lover,  they  were  to  have  been  married,  but  alas !  Mar- 
garet has  lost  her  sight  after  a  severe  illness,  and  Bap- 
tiste, who  has  just  returned  to  the  village,  is,  in  order 
to  fulfil  the  wishes  of  his  father,  about  to  marry  Angele, 
thinking  all  the  while  of  Margaret.  Meanwhile  nothing 
but  merriment  and  mirth  are  to  be  heard  in  the  fields, 
until  Jeanne  the  old  fortune-teller  appears.  She  ex- 
amines the  hand  of  the  bride,  and  exclaims :  '  God 
grant,  giddy  Angele,  that  in  marrying  the  unfaithful 
Baptiste  thou  mayest  not  cause  a  grave  to  be  opened 
to-morrow.'  This  sinister  prediction  interrupts  for  a 
moment  the  gaiety  of  the  scene,  but  the  clear  voices  of 
the  young  girls  might  soon  be  heard  again  singing  their 
merry  songs.  In  the  young  the  memory  of  grief  is 
but  short.  Baptiste,  however,  is  still  sad  and  silent. 
The  second  canto  shows  us  Margaret  in  her  solitary 
chamber.  Baptiste  has  been  three  days  in  the  village, 
and  has  not  yet  been  to  see  her.     '  And  yet  he  knows,' 


no  JASMIN,   THE    BARBER   POET. 

she  exclaims,  '  that  he  is  the  star,  the  sun  of  my  night ! 
He  knows  that  I  have  counted  every  instant  since  first 
he  left  me  !  Oh,  let  him  come  again  and  fulfil  his 
promise,  that  I  may  keep  mine.  Without  him,  what  is 
this  world  to  me  ?  What  pleasure  have  I  ?  The  light 
of  day  shines  for  others,  but  alas,  for  me  it  is  always 
night !  How  dark  it  is  without  him  !  When  he  is  by 
my  side,  I  think  no  more  of  the  light  of  day !  The 
sky  is  blue,  but  his  eyes  are  blue  ;  they  are  a  heaven 
of  love  for  me !  a  heaven  full  of  happiness,  like  that 
over  my  head !  .  .  .  .  Where  is  Baptiste !  He 
hears  me  no  longer  when  I  call  him  !  Like  the  ivy 
which  lies  drooping  on  the  ground,  I  need  some  sup- 
port !  But  who  knows  ?  perhaps  he  has  abandoned 
me !  Alas,  what  a  thought !  They  must  bury  me 
then!  But  I  will  banish  it  from  me  !  Baptiste  will  re- 
turn !  Oh,  he  will  return !  I  have  nothing  to  fear ! 
He  swore  it  in  the  name  of  the  Saviour  !  He  could 
not  come  so  soon  !  He  is  weary,  sick  perhaps.  He 
intends  perchance  to  surprise  me.  But  I  hear  some- 
body !  Now  then  is  an  end  to  all  my  sufferings  !  My 
heart  does  not  deceive  me  !  It  is  he  !  there  he  is  P 
The  door  opens  —  but  Baptiste  does  not  appear  ;  her 
little  brother  Paul  enters,  saying  :  '  The  bride  has  just 
passed  !  I  have  seen  her.  Say,  sister,  why  were  we 
not  invited  ?  alone  of  all  her  friends  we  arc  not  there.' 
There  is  in  this  scene  a  touch  of  nature  which  many 
poets  would  perhaps  have  scorned  to  delineate,  on  the 
ground  that  it  was  too  trivial.  The  cry  of  Margaret, 
•  My  heart  deceives  me  not,'  when  she  is  all  the  while 
mistaken,  is  admirable.  Her  heart  is  so  full  of  hope 
and  confidence  that  she  naturally  takes  the  first  ^ound 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  171 

she  hears  to  be  that  of  the  footsteps  of  her  beloved. 
How  true  and  how  beautiful !  In  the  heart  of  woman 
there  are  such  treasures  of  constancy  and  devotion, 
that  she  is  feelingly  alive  to  the  smallest,  the  most  un- 
important circumstance  which  can  still  make  her  doubt 
the  infidelity  of  the  one  she  loves.  Alas  !  what  a  fath- 
omless depth  of  despair  there  must  be  in  her  heart 
when  she  no  longer  can  doubt ;  when  she  must  believe. 
Margaret  meanwhile  questions  the  child  and  discov- 
ers that  Baptiste  is  the  bridegroom.  Jeanne,  the  sor- 
cei'css,  comes  in  and  endeavors  to  console  the  young 
girl,  as  if  there  were  any  consolation  for  such  sorrows 
but  time  or  death.  '  You  love  him  too  well,'  she  says, 
'  pray  God  that  you  may  not  love  him  so  much.'  *  The 
more  I  pray  God,  the  more  I  love  him,  but  it  is  no  sin, 
may  he  not  yet  be  mine  ?  '  Jeanne  replies  not.  Marga- 
ret understands  this  silence,  but  she  affects  to  appear 
contented,  and  the  old  woman  leaves  her,  believing  that 
she  is  still  undeceived.  The  third  and  last  canto  opens 
on  the  following  morning — the  morning  of  the  day 
on  which  the  wedding  is  to  be  celebrated.  How  differ- 
ently wei'e  two  young  girls  awaiting  that  sunrise.  The 
one,  the  queen  of  the  day,  is  preparing  for  her  wedding  ; 
on  her  head  she  places  a  wreath,  on  her  breast  a  nose- 
gay of  flowers ;  and  in  the  midst  of  happiness  she  for- 
gets to  say  a  prayer.  The  other,  alone  and  blind,  has 
neither  wreath  nor  flowers.  Her  eyes  are  full  of  tears  ; 
she  throws  herself  down  on  her  knees  and  prays  to 
God  to  pardon  her  the  sin  she  is  about  to  commit.  But 
it  is  time  to  go  to  the  church.  Angele,  surrounded  by 
her  friends,  goes  as  in  triumph.  Margaret,  leaning  on 
her  brother,  wends  her  steps  too  towards  the  church. 


172  JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET. 

But  before  leaving  her  room,  she  has  concealed  in  her 
bosom  a  dagger.  As  they  approach  the  church,  they 
hear  the  sound  of  the  melancholy  o^fray  singing  his 
doleful  song.  '  Dost  thou  not  hear  that  sound,  sister  ? 
Dost  thou  remember  the  night  our  poor  father  died 
we  heard  this  sound  ?  He  said  to  thee  :  "  My  child, 
take  care  of  Paul,  for  I  feel  that  I  am  going  to  leave 
you."  We  all  shed  tears.  Our  father  died,  and  was 
buried  here.  Here  is  his  grave,  and  the  cross  is  still 
on  it.  But  why  dost  thou  draw  me  so  near  to  thee,  as  if 
thou  wouldst  smother  me  .'' '  Alas,  poor  Margaret !  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  a  voice  from  the  grave  had  cried  : 
My  child  !  what  art  thou  going  to  do  ?  But  Paul  hur- 
ries her  on  ;  they  have  entered  the  church.  The  bride 
is  at  the  altar.  Baptiste  has  pronounced  the  fatal  *  Yes,' 
when  a  well-known,  voice  exclaims  at  his  side  :  '  It  is 
he  !  Baptiste,  thou  wished  for  my  death  :  let  my  blood 
be  the  holy  water  of  this  wedding  ! '  She  is  about  to 
stab  herself,  but  surely  a  guardian  angel  protects  her, 
for  just  as  she  is  going  to  strike,  she  falls  dead.  Her 
grief  had  killed  her !  Everything  then  changes.  In- 
stead of  the  gay  songs  of  the  morning,  the  solemn  De 
Profundis  is  heard,  and  everything  seems  to  say  :  The 
paths  should  sigh  and  weep,  so  beautiful  is  the  one  who 
is  dead  I 

We  are  fully  aware  how  impossible  it  is  to  give  a 
correct  idea  of  the  beauties  of  a  poetical  composition 
by  means  of  an  analysis.  The  critic  can  no  more  con- 
vey to  his  readers  a  true  notion  of  the  poetic  flowers  of 
a  work,  which  he  can  but  dissect  as  the  anatomist  dis- 
sects a  body,  in  order  to  lay  bare  the  lifeless  skeleton, 
than  the  engraver  can,  with  his  burin,  represent  the 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  173 

coloring  and  the  general  effect  of  a  picture.  But  yet 
by  his  work,  the  engraver  may  give  to  him  who  sees  it  a 
desire  to  behold  the  original  from  whence  it  is  taken  — 
a  desire,  which  he  perhaps  would  never  have  felt,  had 
it  not  been  awakened  within  him  by  this  even  imperfect 
representation.  So,  too,  may  we  not  hope  that  our 
readers  will  wish  to  see  the  original  from  which  we 
have  taken  this  faint  sketch  ?  This  poem  first  awaken- 
ed the  literary  men  of  France,  and  in  a  measure  the 
public  itself,  to  a  sense  of  the  merit  of  Jasmin.  In 
1835  he  was  called  upon  to  read  it  before  the  Academy 
of  Bordeaux,  and  excited  by  his  impassioned  delivery 
an  almost  unparalleled  enthusiasm.  He  had  a  similar 
honor  conferred  on  him  in  1840,  when  he  was  invited 
to  read  the  poem  of  Franconneto  before  a  still  larger 
audience  in  the  city  of  Toulouse. 

The  scene  of  this  poem  is  laid  in  the  south  of  France, 
in  the  16th  century,  at  the  time  of  the  persecution  of 
the  Huguenots,  when  the  cruel  Marquis  of  Montluc  was 
covering  the  country  with  blood  and  tears,  in  the  name 
of  a  God  of  mercy.  The  scene  opens  at  a  moment  of 
comparative  peace  and  quiet.  The  peasants  are  as- 
sembled to  dance  on  the  green  turf.  Among  them  is 
Frangonneto  la  Poulido  de  las  Poulidos,  (the  belle 
of  all  belles.)  Like  all  belles,  however,  Franconneto  is 
capricious.  Surrounded  by  admirers,  she  leaves  them 
to  hope  or  to  despair,  according  as  they  may  be  of  a 
desponding  or  cheerful  disposition,  without  pronouncing 
in  favor  of  any  particular  one.  But  in  the  course  of 
the  evening  she  will  be  obliged  at  least  to  show  some 
degree  of  partiality,  for  it  is  the  custom  to  allow  the 
dancer,  who  can  succeed  in  tiring  his  partner  out,  to 


174  JASMIN,    THE    BARBER    POET. 

take  a  kiss.  What  a  struggle  there  was  for  this  kiss  I 
William,  John,  Louis,  Peter  and  Paul  are  out  of  breath 
without  having  obtained  the  disputed  prize  !  But  here 
comes  Marcel  the  soldier,  to  whom  Franjonneto  is  en- 
gaged, but  for  whom  she  cares  perhaps  less  than  for 
any  of  her  other  admirers.  Surely  he  who  is  accus- 
tomed to  all  the  hardships  of  war,  will  succeed  in  tiring 
out  a  young  girl.  But  when  the  will  is  good  the  weak- 
est girl  is  strong  !  Marcel  is  outdone  ;  he  is  obliged 
to  stop.  Pascal  the  smith  rushes  forward,  and  in  a 
moment  has  tb-ken  his  place ;  but  hardly  has  Franyon- 
neto  taken  a  turn  with  him,  when  she  stops,  and  holding 
up  her  cheek,  receives  the  kiss.  The  air  rings  with  the 
applause  of  the  peasants  at  the  triumph  of  Pascal.  But 
Marcel  the  soldier,  the  favorite  of  Montluc,  is  not  thus 
to  be  trifled  with.  '  You  took  my  place  too  quickly, 
young  man  I '  he  exclaims,  and  adds  a  blow  to  the  in- 
sult. How  easily  a  storm  succeeds  to  the  calm  I  A 
kiss  and  a  blow  !  Glory  and  shame  !  Light  and  dark- 
ness !  Life  and  death  !  Hell  and  Heaven  !  All  these 
things  fill  at  once  the  ardent  soul  of  Pascal.  When  a 
man  is  thus  cowardly  attacked,  he  needs  not  to  be  a 
gentleman  or  a  soldier  to  avenge  the  insult  without  fear. 
No  —  look  at  him  !  A  tempest  is  not  worse !  His  eyes 
flash  fire,  his  voice  thunders !  and  seizing  Marcel  by 
the  waist,  he  hurls  him  to  the  ground.  He  does  not 
wish  to  kill  him.  He  is  satisfied.  His  generosity  does 
not  disarm  Marcel,  however ;  he  wishes  to  continue  the 
fight,  but  Montluc  appears  and  puts  an  end  to  the  quar- 
rel. The  soldier  is  obliged  to  obey,  but  between  his 
teeth  he  might  be  heard  to  mutter :  '  They  love  her 
and  do  all  they  can  to  cross  my  love  ;  she  laughs  at 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  175 

my  expense.  By  St.  Marcel,  my  patron,  they  shall 
pay  for  it,  and  Franjonneto  shall  have  no  other  husband 
but  me.' 

Between  the  first  and  second  cantos,  two  or  three 
months  have  elapsed.  We  again  find  the  peasants  met 
to  celebrate  New  Year's  eve,  and  Franfonneto  is  still 
the  queen  of  beauty.  The  festive  meeting  is  however 
interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  the  man  of  the  Black 
Wood,  the  dread  of  the  neighboring  country,  who  comes 
to  announce  that  the  father  of  Franronneto  became  a 
Huguenot  before  dying,  and  sold  her  soul  to  an  evil 
spirit.  Ill  luck  to  him  who  shall  venture  to  marry  her. 
When  her  husband  shall  take  the  bridal  wreath  from 
her  brow,  the  Demon  will  take  possession  of  her  soul, 
and  wring  his  neck.  '  Great  words,  high  sounding  com- 
parisons could  not  express  the  appearance  of  the  peas- 
ants, who  at  this  dreadful  prediction  seemed  to  be 
changed  into  stones.'  Franfonneto  alone  remains  un- 
moved. She  believes  at  first  that  it  is  but  a  joke,  but 
when  she  finds  all  her  companions  shrink  back  from 
her,  she  falls  insensible  to  the  ground.  She  is  now 
shunned  by  all  her  companions.  When  she  goes  to 
church,  they  all  avoid  her.  Pascal  alone  has  not  aban- 
doned her,  and  even  does  not  fear  to  offer  her  the 
blessed  bread  at  the  altar.  What  a  moment  was  that 
for  her  !  '  One  would  would  think  that  the  bread  of  a 
resuscitated  God  had  recalled  her  to  life.  But  why 
does  she  blush  ?  Oh,  it  is  because  the  angel  of  love 
has  blown  a  little  of  his  flame  on  the  embers  which  lay 
lurking  in  her  heart.  Oh,  it  is  because  something 
strange,  something  new,  hot  as  fire,  soft  as  honey,  has 
taken  root  and  is  growing  up  in  her  breast.     Oh,  it  is 


176  JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET. 

because  she  lives  with  another  life  ;  she  knows  and  she 
feels  it!  The  world  and  the  priest  are  alike  forgotten, 
and  in  the  temple  of  God  she  sees  but  one  man,  the 
man  whom  she  loves,  the  man  whom  she  can  thank.' 
She  returns  home,  and  then  'she  does  what  we  all 
may  do;  she  dreams  with  open  eyes,  and  without  stone 
or  hammer,  she  builds  a  little  castle,  in  which  by  the 
side  of  Pascal  everything  is  happiness.'  But  alas! 
why  must  she  awaken  from  this  dream  ?  She  was 
thinking  of  love,  but  reality  now  breaks  in  on  her  with 
its  cold  and  iron  hand  ;  she  remembers  the  prediction 
that  he  who  marries  her  must  die.  In  despair  she  falls 
on  her  knees  before  the  image  of  the  blessed  Virgin. 
'Holy  Mother!'  she  exclaims,  'without  thee  I  am 
lost.  I  love  Pascal.  I  have  neither  father  nor  mother, 
and  they  all  say  that  I  am  sold  to  an  evil  spirit.  Take 
pity  on  me.  Save  me  if  this  be  true  !  or  if  they  deceive 
me,  prove  it  to  my  soul.  I  will  offer  thee  a  candle  at 
Notre-Dame.  Virgin  so  good,  show  me  by  some  infal- 
lible sign,  that  thou  receivest  it  with  pleasure.'  Short 
prayers,  when  sincere,  ascend  rapidly  to  heaven.  Sure 
that  she  has  been  heard,  the  young  girl  thinks  inces- 
santly of  her  purpose.  At  times,  however,  she  trem- 
bles ;  fear  paralyzes  her  speech.  And  then  again  hopo 
shines  in  her  heart,  as  a  flash  of  lightning  in  the  dark 
of  the  night.  The  solemn  day  has  come.  She  goes 
to  the  church  and  presents  her  offering  at  the  shrine  of 
the  Virgin  ;  but  alas  !  her  hopes  are  in  an  instant  blight- 
ed. No  sooner  has  she  lighted  the  candle  on  the  altar, 
than  a  violent  peal  of  thunder  is  heard,  and  the  light  is 
extinguished.  No  doubt  can  now  remain  !  She  is 
condemned  to  a  cruel  fate  !     The  peasants  are  exas- 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  177 

perated,  and  resolve  to  set  fire  to  her  house.  The  flames 
are  already  spreading  over  it,  when  Pascal  interferes 
and  endeavors  to  save  her.  But  he  comes  not  alone. 
Marcel  is  behind  him.  '  Wilt  thou  marry  me  ?  '  he 
exclaims.  Pascal  makes  the  same  offer.  Fran9onneto, 
after  a  struggle  between  love  and  duty,  accepts  Pascal's 
offer.  '  I  love  you,'  Pascal,  she  says,  '  and  wished  to 
die  alone.  But  you  demand  it.  I  can  resist  no  longer, 
and  if  it  is  our  destiny,  let  it  be  so,  let  us  die  together.' 
Two  weeks  after  this  scene,  the  marriage  procession 
might  be  seen  winding  its  way  down  the  hill.  But  Pas- 
cal's mother  entreats  him  not  to  proceed  ;  his  fate  is 
decreed,  she  says,  he  will  surely  die.  Pascal  feels  the 
tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  but  still  he  holds  the 
hand  of  his  beloved.  How  those  tears  affect  him,  but 
love  is  yet  the  stronger.  '  Take  care  of  my  mother,  if 
anything  happens  to  me,'  he  says  to  Marcel.  But  the 
soldier,  too,  is  shedding  tears.  '  Pascal,'  he  exclaims, 
'  in  love  as  in  war,  an  artifice  is  permitted.  I  forged 
the  whole  story  of  Franconneto's  being  sold  to  an  evil 
spirit.  I  paid  the  sorcerer  to  frighten  you  with  it,  in 
the  hope  of  forcing  Franconneto  to  marry  me.  But 
alas  !  she  preferred  thee.  I  then  resolved  to  avenge 
myself  by  putting  you  both  to  death.  I  would  have 
led  you  to  the  nuptial  chamber,  and  then  have  blown 
you  up  with  myself.  Everything  was  prepared  for 
this  crime.  But  thy  mother  has  disarmed  my  anger  by 
her  tears.  She  recalls  to  my  mind  my  own  mother,  who 
is  no  more.  .  Live  for  her  sake.  Thou  hast  nothing 
more  to  fear  from  me  ;  thy  paradise  descends  now  on 
earth.  I  have  nobody  left.  I  return  to  the  wars.  To 
12 


178  JASMIN,    THE    BARBER    POET. 

cure  me  of  my  love,  a  cannon-ball  is  perhaps  better 
than  such  a  crime.'  He  speaks  and  disappears.  The 
marriage  is  celebrated.  But  here  the  poet  stops.  He 
had  colors  to  depict  grief  ;  he  has  none  wherewith  to 
represent  such  happiness  ! 

Beauties  of  the  highest  order  are  profusely  scattered 
throughout  both  poems.  They  are  of  that  kind,  how- 
ever, which  makes  it  extremely  difficult,  not  to  say  im- 
possible, to  render  them  in  any  language  but  that  of 
the  original.  The  patois  dialect,  in  which  Jasmin  writes, 
is  full  of  softness  and  simplicity,  but,  at  the  same  time, 
energetic  as  the  race  to  whom  it  belongs.  In  making 
use  of  such  a  dialect,  the  poet  is  not  obliged,  as  the 
French  writer  is,  to  weigh  every  word,  in  order  to  as- 
certain whether  it  is  worthy  to  be  used  or  not  in  a  poetic 
composition.  Moliere  and  Beranger  are  the  only  two 
French  poets,  who  seem  to  be  so  perfectly  master  of 
the  language  in  which  they  write,  as  to  be  able  to  ex- 
press all  their  thoughts  without  circumlocution.  To 
this  perhaps,  in  a  great  measure,  may  be  ascribed  the 
popularity  of  the  great  comic  writer,  and  if  we  may  so 
say,  the  anticipated  immortality  of  the  greatest  of  mod- 
ern French  poets,  Beranger.  To  us  many  of  the  French 
poets  who  are  most  admired,  and  deservedly  so,  appear 
very  much  as  would  a  laborer  who  wore  every  day  his 
Sunday  dress.  They  are  unfit  for  performing  their 
common  duties  for  fear  of  soiling  their  borrowed  dress. 
From  the  heights  on  which  they  strive  to  dwell,  they 
can  take  no  part  in  the  ordinary  svents  of  life.  It 
seems  to  us  that  the  merit  of  the  poet  is  not  to  ennoble 
things  by  so  disguising  them  as  to  make  it  sometimes 
even  difficult  to  recognize  them,  but  to  present  them  in 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  179 

their  natural  state,  although  in  a  poetic  form.  That 
nature,  when  left  to  hei"self,  is  never  vulgar,  is  a  pre- 
cept which  the  poet  should  always  bear  in  mind.  Look, 
for  example,  at  the  peasant.  He  is  rough,  rude  in  his 
speech,  but  he  is  not  vulgar.  Take  him  to  a  city,  and 
in  six  months,  he  will  be  essentially  so.  In  endeavor- 
ing to  make  people  forget  his  humble  origin,  he  will 
show  how  out  of  place  he  is.  AVhen  you  saw  him  in 
the  field,  you  thought  him  even  gi*aceful  in  his  move- 
ments. In  his  new,  and  to  him,  uncomfortable  dress, 
you  find  him  awkward.  And  so  it  is  with  everything 
in  nature.  Leave  things  in  the  place  which  nature  as- 
signs to  them,  and  you  will  find  them  all  that  they 
should  be.  But  when,  no  matter  from  what  cause,  the 
beautiful  order  of  nature  has  been  jjerverted,  that  which 
was  wont  to  appear  noble  and  beautiful,  is  so  deformed 
as  to  become  common  and  sometimes  hideous.  The 
poet  then  need  not  fear  to  represent  things  as  they  are. 
He  will  make  the  peasant  speak  the  language  of  the 
peasant,  and  the  lord  the  language  of  the  lord  :  for 
what  would  be  vulgarity  in  the  one  is  but  nature  in  the 
other.  Jasmin  is  well  aware  of  this.  We  never  find 
him  endeavoring  to  give  to  his  verses  a  borrowed  dig- 
nity.     They  are  always  drawn  from  the  life. 

Jasmin  has  had  to  resist  the  temptation  which  is 
thrown  in  the  way  of  every  distinguished  man  in 
France,  that  of  establishing  himself  in  the  capital.  He 
has  resisted  it  with  a  constancy  worthy  of  the  highest 
praise.  The  inducements  must  have  been  strong.  In 
Paris,  he  would  have  lived  in  those  literary  circles  in 
which  his  talents  would  have  been  fully  appreciated ; 
but  at  the  same  time  he  would  have  experienced  the 


180  JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET. 

envy  of  rival  authors.  At  Agen,  on  the  contrary',  he 
lives  quietly  and  admired  by  all  his  countrymen.  We 
find  among  his  poems  an  epistle  addressed  to  a  rich 
farmer  of  the  neighborhood  of  Toulouse,  who  had  stren- 
uously urged  his  going  to  the  metropolis  to  make  his 
fortune.  There  is  in  this  piece  of  poetry  an  energy 
and  a  vivacity  of  expression,  which  must  have  been 
anything  but  agreeable  to  the  person  to  whom  it  was 
addressed.  '  And  you  too,  sir,'  he  says,  '  do  not  fear 
to  trouble  the  peace  of  my  days  and  nights,  but  write 
to  me  to  carry  my  guitar  and  comb  to  the  great  city  of 
kings  !  There,  you  say,  my  poetic  vein  and  the  verses 
by  which  I  am  already  known,  would  cause  a  stream  of 
dollars  to  flow  into  my  shop.  You  might,  sir,  during  a 
whole  month,  sing  the  praises  of  this  golden  rain  —  you 
might  tell  me  that  fame  is  but  smoke  !  glory  nought  but 
glory,  but  that  money  is  money !  I  would  not  even 
thank  you.  Money  !  Is  money  anything  to  a  man  who 
feels  burning  in  his  breast  the  flame  of  poetry  ?  I  am 
happy  and  poor  with  my  loaf  of  rye,  and  the  water 

from  my  fountain I  enjoy  eveiything. 

Nothing  makes  me  sigh.  I  have  cried  long  enough ;  I 
mean  to  make  amends  for  it.  Wiser  than  in  the  days 
of  my  youth,  I  begin  to  feel  in'  this  world,  which  we 
must  all  leave  so  soon,  content  which  passes  riches.' 

The  muse  of  Jasmin  is  generally  of  a  serious  turn, 
but  there  are,  nevertheless,  two  humorous  pieces  in  the 
collection  before  us,  which  are  very  excellent.  The 
one  is  a  description  of  a  journey  which  the  poet  once 
took,  and  in  which  his  travelling  companions  were  qui- 
etly discussing  the  merits  of  Jasmin,  without  being  at 
all  aware  that  he  was  sitting  by  their  side.     The  reader 


JASMIN,  THE  BARBER  POET.  181 

can  easily  imagine  to  what  amusing  scenes  such  a  mis- 
take might  give  rise.  The  other,  entitled  Le  Chaliiari, 
is  a  mock  heroic  poem,  like  Boileau's  Lutrin,  and 
Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock,  and  which,  had  it  been  writ- 
ten at  an  earlier  period,  might  have  claimed  a  place  by 
the  side  of  those  two  capital  poems.  The  nineteenth 
century  is  not  exactly  the  best  period  for  writing  a  par- 
ody of  a  style  of  composition  which  is  now  —  and  we 
trust  ever  will  be  —  out  of  fashion.  A  satire  on  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  Middle  Ages  would  be  al- 
most as  well  adapted  to  our  times.  There  are  many 
other  poems  in  the  works  of  Jasmin  which  are  well 
worthy  of  notice,  but  we  have  neither  the  leisure  nor 
the  desire  to  write  out  an  index  of  the  two  octavo  vol- 
umes before  us ;  we  therefore  dismiss  the  subject,  sin- 
cerely wishing  that  no  person  who  admires  true  poetry, 
will  take  our  word  for  the  beauties  contained  in  the 
poems  of  Jasmin,  but  that  he  will  judge  for  himself. 
We  are  much  mistaken,  or  he  will  feel  something  of 
the  pleasure  we  have  ourselves  experienced  in  perusing 
them,  and,  we  may  add,  in  endeavoring  to  make  them 
known. 


COQUEREL'S  EXPERIMENTAL  CHRISTIANITY.* 


It  is  a  common  opinion,  and  one  which  we  regret  to 
see  so  prevalent  in  our  own  country,  that  the  French 
nation  is  a  nation  without  religion,  and  even  without 
religious  aspirations.  If  any  horrible  crime  is  commit- 
ted in  France,  there  are  hundreds  to  be  found  who  will 
exclaim,  What  else  could  be  expected  in  a  country 
where  there  is  no  religion  ?  These  are  grave  imputa- 
tions, and,  as  it  seems  to  us,  require  some  proofs  to 
support  them.  That  the  French  do  not  willingly  accede 
to  the  present  religion  of  France  is  a  fact  which  we 
would  not  even  wish  to  deny,  for  it  is  on  this  fact  we 
found  our  belief  that  religious  feeling  is  not  extinct  in 
that  country.  The  time  when  Catholicism  could  exer- 
cise any  real  influence  over  the  French  people  has 
passed  away,  never  more  to  return.  Catholicism  is  but 
nominally  the  religion  of  the  majority  of  the  French 
nation.  Does  it,  however,  follow,  that  in  the  hearts  of 
tliose  who  have  deserted  the  altars  of  the  Church  of 
Rome,  the  pure  flame  of  religion  has  become  extinct  ? 
By  no  means.      It  is,  indeed,  impossible  for  man  to 

*  Le  Christianisme  Experimental.  Par  Athanase  Coquerel, 
I'un  des  Pasteurs  de  I'Eglise  Reformce  de  Paris.  Paris :  1847. 
12mo.    pp.  527. 


COQUEREL's   experimental   CHRISTIANITY.        183 

eradicate  from  his  breast  that  religious  instinct  which 
God  himself  has  implanted  within  it.  He  may,  for  a 
time,  seem  no  more  to  hear  its  voice,  but  he  will  sooner 
or  later  be  again  obliged  to  acknowledge  its  existence. 
So,  too,  a  nation  may,  during  a  period  of  religious  and 
social  convulsion,  no  longer  obey  the  dictates  of  this 
impulse,  and  abandon  itself  entirely  to  all  the  uncer- 
tainty and  horror  of  scepticism  and  materialism.  But 
when  the  revolutionary  storm  has  subsided,  when  a 
nation  has  obtained  that  political  or  social  freedom  for 
which  it  struggled,  it  will  feel,  that,  to  enable  man  to 
bear  the  sorrows  and  disappointments  which  await  him 
in  this  world,  a  cold  and  lifeless  philosophical  system  is 
inadequate.  It  will  then,  once  more,  seek  for  an  altar 
where  it  may  offer  up  its  prayers  to  God.  This  has 
been  the  case  in  France.  Since  that  revolution,  which 
was  caused,  perhaps,  as  much  by  the  scepticism  of  the 
eighteenth  century  as  by  the  vices  of  the  Regent  or  of 
Louis  XV.,  the  French  begin  to  feel  the  necessity  of  a 
religion  in  harmony  with  their  real  spiritual  wants. 

If  this  view  of  the  present  condition  of  France  is 
not  often  taken,  it  is  because  we  are  apt  to  form  our 
idea  of  the  moral  and  social  condition  of  a  people  from 
the  extremes  of  society.  This  is  unjust.  It  is  not  by 
what  we  see  among  a  gay  and  heartless  aristocracy,  or 
in  those  classes  that  are  plunged  into  the  depths  of  mis- 
ery and  of  vice,  the  necessary  companion  of  misery, 
that  an  opinion  of  this  kind  is  to  be  formed.  If  such 
were  the  only  means  of  judging  of  the  morality  of  a 
people,  how  low  would  England  stand  in  our  estimation  ! 
It  is  from  the  condition  of  the  middle  classes,  that  is  to 
say,  the  majority  of  the  nation,  that  we  must  judge  of 


184        COQUEREl's    experimental    CHRISTIANITY. 

the  whole  nation.  If  these  classes  arc  content  with 
their  imperfect  form  of  worship,  or  if  they  are  devoid 
of  religious  sentiment,  then,  and  then  only,  may  we 
despair  of  the  future  religious  progress  of  a  nation.  If 
we  look  at  the  middle  classes  in  France,  we  shall  not, 
however,  find  any  cause  of  despair.  We  shall  there 
find  many  thousands  of  Catholics,  who,  were  it  not  for 
that  mysterious  sympathy  which  binds  every  man  to 
the  faith  of  his  fathers,  and  to  that  mode  of  worship 
which  he  was  taught  to  profess  when  a  child,  would 
abandon  their  religion  and  become  membws  of  some 
Protestant  church.  We  have  ourselves  known  some 
who,  although  truly  religious,  never  had  taken  the  sa- 
crament, because  they  were  unwilling  to  conform  to  the 
usage  of  their  church  preparatory  to  this  ceremony, — 
unwilling  to  confess  their  sins  to  a  sinner  like  them- 
selves. We  have  known  others,  again,  who  did  not 
believe  in  the  Trinity,  or  who  denied  the  infallibility  of 
the  Pope.  And  yet  all  these  persons  sincerely  and 
honestly  believed  themselves  Catholics  Tranquillize 
the  conscientious  anxieties  of  such  persons,  convince 
them  that  it  is  not  only  not  wrong  to  abandon  a  church 
to  which  one  does  not  truly  belong,  but  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  Christian  to  join  the  church  whose  doc- 
trines are  the  most  in  harmony  with  his  own,  and  they 
would  soon  be  found,  we  doubt  not,  at  the  foot  of  some 
Protestant  pulpit. 

M.  Coquerel's  work  is  intended  to  present  to  these 
Christians,  who  have  renounced  the  religion  of  the  past, 
but  who  are  still  doubtful  as  to  the  path  which  they  shall 
now  follow,  a  complete  religious  system,  which  may 
serve  as  the  foundation  of  their  future  faith.    Firm  and 


COQUEREL's    experimental   CHRISTIANITY.       185 

tranquil  in  his  belief  that  France  will  one  day  be  a 
Protestant  country,  M.  Coquerel  has  devoted  all  his 
powers  to  the  realization  of  this,  his  most  ardent  wish. 
The  energies  of  a  highly  gifted  mind,  an  impassioned 
and  touching  eloquence,  and  the  treasures  of  a  truly 
Christian  heart,  have  been  alike  directed  towards  this 
great  object.  After  thirty  years  of  uninterrupted  labor 
as  a  preacher,  first  in  the  French  Protestant  church  at 
Amsterdam,  and  afterwards  as  one  of  the  pastors  of 
the  Reformed  Church  of  Paris,  he  has  at  last  published 
the  work  we  have  before  us.  M.  Coquerel  belongs  to 
that  class  of  Christians  who  think,  that,  as  there  were 
reformers  before  the  Reformation,  so  too  there  may  be 
reformers  in  every  age  ;  and  that,  however  much  we 
may  be  indebted  to  those  immortal  men  who  first  freed 
the  world  from  the  yoke  of  Romanism,  we  may  differ 
widely  from  them  in  their  manner  of  interpreting  the 
Scriptures.  An  intolerant  Protestantism,  that  is  to  say, 
a  religious  system  in  which  liberty  of  conscience  is  the 
first  word,  but  which  ends  with  the  solemn  and  horrible 
declaration,  that  there  is  only  one  church  in  which  man 
can  be  saved,  is  as  unfit  for  our  age  as  the  Roman  Cath- 
olic faith.  A  new  system  is,  then,  to  be  sought.  In 
this  system,  faith  in  God  as  a  Father,  in  Christ  as  a 
Saviour,  and  in  immortality  as  the  continuation  of  our 
present  existence,  must  be  included.  But  faith  will  not 
alone  be  required.  We  are  confident  that  man  will  be 
judged,  not  according  to  his  belief,  if  that  belief  be  sin- 
cere, but  according  to  his  actions.  And  must  it  not  be 
so  ?  If  every  Protestant  has  a  right  to  read  his  Bible, 
and  therein  to  find  his  faith,  how  can  it  be  expected 
that  all  men  should  believe  alike  ?     Who  can  suppose 


186       COQUEREl's    EXPEBIMENTAL    CHRISTIANITY. 

that  tlic  simple-hearted  laborer,  who  on  the  Sabbath 
reads  the  Bible  to  his  family,  should  understand  it  and 
interpret  it  as  a  Luther  or  a  Calvin,  a  Chalmers  or  a 
Cliaiining  ?  No.  The  time  is  fast  approaching  when 
there  will  be  a  large  class  of  Christians,  who,  when 
asked  to  what  religious  denomination  they  belong,  will 
simply  reply,  —  We  are  disciples  of  Christ ;  Christ  has 
taught  us  to  love  God  as  a  Father,  to  love  each  other, 
and  to  do  by  others  as  we  would  wish  to  be  done  by  ; 
we  are  Christians,  not  theologians.  And  when,  at  last, 
the  number  of  those  who  profess  these  liberal  views 
shall  have  so  increased  as  to  spread  all  over  the  world, 
when  all  nations  shall  meet  together  to  offer  up  prayers 
at  the  same  altar,  then,  and  then  only,  Christianity  will 
have  accomplished  its  object  in  this  world.  How  beau- 
tiful is  this  anticipation  of  the  future  condition  of  the 
human  race  !  How  soothing  to  the  heart  of  the  Chris- 
tian, amidst  the  dissensions  which  now  agitate  mankind 
and  divide  them  into  innumerable  sects,  each  of  which 
is  willing  to  assert  that  it  alone  is  possessed  of  the  truth ! 
There  are  many  Christians,  however,  who  may  think 
that  such  a  system  savors  too  much  of  Rationalism.  If 
they  peruse  M.  Coquerel's  volume,  they  will  see,  we 
think,  that  they  are  mistaken.  They  will  see  that  the 
author,  while  he  maintains  our  right  to  investigate,  by 
the  light  of  our  reason,  the  various  and  difficult  prob- 
lems which  surround  us,  at  the  same  time  shows  that 
we  shall  necessarily,  sooner  or  later,  be  stopped  in  our 
investigations,  and  be  obliged  to  seek  for  another  guide, 
or  run  the  risk  of  remaining  forever  in  darkness  and 
uncertainty.  Such  a  system  assigns  to  philosophy  and 
to  religion  each  its  true  place.     Their  respective  posi- 


COQITEREL's    experimental   CHRISTIANITY.       187 

tions  have  been  often  strangely  misapprehended.  They 
have  been  viewed,  not  as  successive  stages  of  the  same 
science,  but  as  rival  methods  of  teaching  the  same 
truths.  If  this  were  the  case,  then  either  the  one  or 
the  other  would  be  useless.  If  with  the  light  of  our 
reason  alone  we  could  penetrate  into  the  deepest  re- 
cesses of  our  souls  and  solve  the  dark  mysteries  which 
envelope  our  existence,  if  philosophy  could  give  a  sat- 
isfactory answer  to  those  questions  which  have  per- 
plexed the  wisest, —  What  ami.?  Whence  come  I? 
Whither  am  I  going.?  —  then  might  we  not  ask,  To 
what  purpose  religion  ?  Might  not  Christ  have  remained 
in  his  glory  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Father,  instead  of 
taking  a  human  form  and  submitting  to  all  the  evils  at- 
tendant on  a  human  life  ?  Might  he  not  have  spared 
himself  the  sufferings  of  the  most  cruel  of  deaths  ?  A 
correct  view  of  our  own  nature  will  show  us  that  phi- 
losophy is  but  the  introduction  to  religion,  the  vestibule 
of  the  temple.  Free  to  choose  between  good  and  evil, 
ignorance  and  knowledge,  man  may  content  himself 
with  the  imperfect  and  uncertain  instructions  of  philoso- 
phy, or  complete  his  knowledge  by  the  aid  of  religion  ; 
he  may  read  the  first  volume  of  his  history,  and  neglect 
the  second  ;  he  may  pause  in  the  vestibule  of  the  tem- 
ple as  in  a  labyrinth,  or  take  one  step  more,  lift  the  veil 
which  covers  the  sanctuary,  and  penetrate  into  the  deep- 
est mysteries  of  our  being. 

A  work,  founded  on  this  distinction  between  philoso- 
phy and  religion,  must  necessarily  begin  with  a  minute 
and  careful  examination  of  the  nature,  the  faculties  and 
the  desires  of  man.  Let  us  endeavor  to  follow  M.  Co- 
querel  in  this  research. 


188       COQUEREL's    experimental    CHRISTIANITY. 

Man  has  the  consciousness  of  his  own  existence,  and 
of  his  individuality.  He  alone,  of  all  the  animals  that 
inhabit  this  earth,  has  a  clear  and  distinct  notion  of  him- 
self and  of  what  surrounds  him.  From  this  conviction 
naturally  result  two  facts,  —  that  man  has  not  always 
existed,  and  that  the  source  whence  his  life  has  sprung 
is  not  within  himself.  Man  knows  that  he  has  not  al- 
ways existed,  because,  as  he  has  the  consciousness  of 
a  present,  he  would,  then,  have  also  within  himself  the 
evidence  of  a  past  existence.  He,  moreover,  knows 
that  he  did  not  create  himself;  for  if  he  had  the  power 
of  creation,  he  would  also  have  the  power  of  maintain- 
ing his  existence.  On  a  further  examination,  man  dis- 
covers within  himself  different  powers  or  tendencies, 
which  may  be  thus  classed  :  —  1.  the  intellectual  power, 
the  object  of  which  is  knowledge  ;  2.  the  moral  power, 
the  object  of  which  is  virtue ;  3.  the  affective  power, 
which  leads  man  to  desire  to  form  certain  relations  with 
his  fellow-creatures  ;  4.  the  feeling  power,  which  tends 
to  a  complete  satisfaction  of  man's  desire,  —  to  perfect 
happiness;  5.  the  religious  power,  which  induces  man 
to  seek  for  an  object  which  he  may  adore. 

The  ideal  notion  of  knowledge,  of  virtue,  of  love,  of 
happiness,  and  of  religion,  which  man  has  conceived  in 
all  stages  of  civilization,  is  but  the  object  of  these  pow- 
ers or  tendencies.  To  deny  that  such  an  ideal  exists  is 
to  declare  that  all  the  faculties,  all  the  powers,  of  man 
are  directed  towards  an  unattainable  object.  This  ideal 
does  exist ;  it  is  the  object  of  our  life  ;  it  must  be  at- 
tained. 

These  few  and  simple  observations  on  the  nature  and 
the  desires  of  man,  at  once  destroy  three  of  the  most 


COQUEREL's   experimental   CHRISTIANITY.       189 

erroneous  philosophical  systems  which  have  ever  existed 
in  the  world,  —  pantheism,  pyrrhonism,  and  absolute 
spiritualism. 

We  know  that  we  exist ;  we  feel  our  individuality. 
There  is,  then,  something  in  nature  which  is  not  God. 
Pantheism  is  destroyed. 

This  consciousness  of  our  existence  is  alike  fatal  to 
a  system  of  absolute  doubt ;  since  this  one  fact,  at  least, 
is  indisputable  and  undisputed. 

And,  finally,  a  system  of  absolute  spiritualism  can 
no  longer  subsist ;  for  the  knowledge  we  have  of  our- 
selves and  of  what  is  not  us,  teaches  us  that  matter 
exists. 

From  these  considerations,  man  rises  to  a  higher 
and  purer  conception,  that  of  the  existence  of  God. 
He  feels  that  God  exists  ;  for,  if  God  did  not  exist,  the 
religious  tendency  which  he  finds  within  himself,  would 
be  without  an  object.  God  is  the  ideal  of  the  mind. 
This  ideal  is  one.  God  is  one.  How  simple  and  how 
beautiful  are  these  thoughts  !  I  am  ;  and  because  I  am, 
God  is.  That  which  it  is  vain  to  seek  to  prove  by  a 
philosophical  demonstration  is  made  evident  by  the  re- 
ligious instinct  we  have  within  us,  and  is  alike  revealed 
to  the  greatest  and  the  most  humble  minds.  If  God  is 
one,  everything  that  is  not  God  is  created.  Man,  then, 
was  created  by  God.  The  object  of  this  creation  is  the 
complete  satisfaction  of  all  the  powers  and  tendencies 
of  man.  Arrived  at  this  degree  of  knowledge,  we  are 
stopped  by  an  impenetrable  mystery,  that  of  our  liberty. 
We  cannot  comprehend  how  God,  who  has  created  us 
and  who  watches  over  us,  should  have  left  us  entire  lib- 
erty to  use  as  we  like  the  faculties  with  which  we  have 


190       COQUEREL's   experimental   CHRISTIANITY. 

been  endowed.  To  this  mystery,  as  to  all  mysteries, 
there  is  no  ansvwpr.  We  all  believe  in  our  liberty  and 
at  the  same  time  in  the  omniscience  of  God  ;  but  we  can- 
not reconcile  these  two  notions,  which  seem  contradic- 
tory. To  understand  this  mystery,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  understand  how  God,  when  he  had  created  the  world, 
withdrew  his  almighty  hand  from  his  work.  We  are 
as  much  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  how  God  leaves  the 
heavenly  bodies  suspended  in  the  universe,  or  how, 
after  having  formed  the  material  world,  he  allows  it  to 
follow  its  laws,  as  to  know  how  we  can  enjoy  our  liberty 
while  God  sees  all  that  we  are  doing.  The  field  in 
which  this  liberty  is  to  be  exercised  is  boundless,  for  the 
object  of  the  powers  of  which  we  have  recognized  the 
existence  within  us  is  infinite.  We  can  always  approach 
nearer  to  God,  or  separate  ourselves  more  from  him. 
'  What  a  distance,'  says  our  author,  '  between  him  to 
whom  it  was  said,  "  Where  is  thy  brother  Abel  ? "  or 
him  of  whom  the  Saviour  said,  "  It  had  been  good  for 
that  man  if  he  had  not  been  born,"  and  a  Moses,  with 
whom  "  the  Lord  spake  as  a  man  speaketh  unto  his 
friend,"  or  a  St.  Paul,  who  desires  to  leave  the  world 
"  to  be  with  Christ !  "  And  yet  neither  of  these  exam- 
ples shows  the  last  degree  of  separation,  or  the  most 
complete  union  between  God  and  man.'  An  eternal 
life  can  alone  suffice  for  man  to  fulfil  his  destiny  and 
to  approach  the  throne  of  God.  However  high  he  may 
have  risen,  he  will  still  have  to  eiscend.  The  angels 
are  even  '  charged  with  folly '  by  God ;  the  heavens 
themselves,  that  is,  those  who  people  them,  '  are  not 
clean  in  his  sight.'  Man  is,  then,  immortal.  If  the 
object  of  all  our  faculties,  of  all  our  desirfis,  is  God, 


COQUEREL's    experimental    CHRISTIANITY.        191 

must  we  not  be  immortal  ?  Would  the  narrow  limits 
of  a  condition,  which,  whether  after  years  or  centuries, 
must  end,  be  sufficient  for  the  accomplishment  of  our 
destiny  ?  No.  The  time  can  never  come  when  we 
shall  possess  sufficient  science  to  authorize  us  to  say, 
We  know  enough.  The  time  can  never  come,  when 
our  religious  aspirations  will  be  so  completely  satisfied, 
that  we  shall  feel  ourselves  near  enough  to  God.  The 
time  can  never  come,  when  our  affijctions  will  be  so 
entirely  gratified,  that  we  can  say.  We  have  loved 
enough.  We  are  immortal,  and  during  the  successive 
stages  of  our  immortality,  we  shall  have  the  same  con- 
sciousness of  individuality  that  we  have  during  our 
present  existence.  If  we  were  to  lose  that  conscious- 
ness, it  would  be  matter  of  little  or  no  importance  to 
us  whether  we  were  immortal  or  not.  The  activity  of 
man  is  uninterrupted.  Thus  generation  after  genera- 
tion follow  on  that  eternal  road,  at  the  end  of  which  is 
the  Infinite. 

'  A  new  principle  is  an  inexhaustible  source  of  new 
views.'  This  remark  of  a  distinguished  French  philos- 
opher *  is  perfectly  correct.  If  we  take  the  principles 
which  we  have  laid  down  as  the  basis  of  our  philosophi- 
cal and  religious  system,  we  shall  view  in  a  different 
light  many  of  the  most  difficult  and  interesting  prob- 
lems of  our  destiny.  We  shall  regard  the  notions  of 
time  and  space,  for  example,  as  the  necessary  corolla- 
ries of  these  principles.  Space  is  but  the  stage  on  which 
our  activity  is  to  be  exercised ;  time,  the  successive  gra- 
dations through  which  we  must  pass,  in  order  to  make 

*  Vauvenargues,  Maxime  211. 


192       COQUEREl's   experimental    CHRISTIANITY. 

that  progress  which  we  all  so  ardently  desire.  The 
terrestrial  paradise,  that  golden  age  of  virtue  and  in- 
nocence, of  which  all  nations  have  dreamed,  is  the 
time  when  we  were  fulfilling  our  destiny,  when  we 
were  advancing  towards  God  ;  the  fall  of  man,  that  fatal 
moment,  when,  instead  of  following  the  higher  tenden- 
cies of  his  nature,  he  first  trod  that  path  which  must 
lead  him  farther  and  farther  from  his  Creator.  From 
this  change  in  the  moral  condition  of  man  has  resulted 
physical  suffering.  It  is  difficult  to  comprehend  how  so 
intimate  a  connection  can  exist  between  the  moral  and 
the  physical  world  ;  but  it  w.ould  be  still  more  difficult 
to  understand  how  a  world,  created  for  a  pure  and  in- 
nocent being,  could  continue  the  same  after  the  fall  of 
that  being. 

Applied  to  each  individual  life,  the  principles  we 
have  established  will  throw  much  light  on  some  points 
that  now  seem  obscure.  Thus,  our  birth  will  appear  to 
us  but  as  our  first  entrance  upon  that  sphere  of  activity, 
which  is  the  world  we  now  inhabit ;  life,  but  the  length 
of  time  allotted  us  for  our  mortal  task ;  and  death,  but 
the  moment  when,  throwing  aside  our  mortal  body, — 
as  a  traveller,  fatigued  and  harassed  by  the  length  of 
his  route,  throws  off  his  soiled  and  dusty  garments 
when  he  has  arrived  at  his  home,  —  we  shall  take  pos- 
session of  the  new  and  better  organization  which  awaits 
us  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave.  The  moment  of  our 
death  is,  then,  the  moment  of  our  resurrection.  Be- 
tween our  life  and  our  immortality  there  is  nothing, — 
nothing  but  that  solemn  moment,  which  to  the  unbe- 
liever and  to  the  bigot  is  so  full  of  gloom,  but  which  to 
the  true  Christian  is  only  a  moment  of  rejoicing  and 


COQUEREL's    experimental   CHRISTIANITY.       193 

the  true  Christian  is  only  a  moment  of  rejoicing  and 
of  thanksgiving,  for  to  him  that  moment  is  but  as 
the  delivery  of  a  soul  from  its  prison-house.  The 
declaration  of  Christ  to  the  repentant  malefactor, 
'  To-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  paradise,'  may, 
then,  be  interpreted  literally.  And,  finally,  we  shall 
better  understand  what  is  meant  by  the  end  of  the 
world.  What  death  is  to  an  individual,  the  end  of 
the  world  will  be  to  the  race.  When  all  the  resources 
of  this  earth  shall  have  been  exhausted,  all  its  mys- 
teries unravelled,  all  its  beauties  admired,  it  will 
become  useless,  and  be  cast  aside  as  an  instrument 
that  can  no  longer  be  made  serviceable.  As  to  the 
moment  when  this  final  and  solemn  conclusion  of 
the  destinies  of  mankind  in  this  world  will  take  place, 
Christ  himself  has  said,  — '  But  of  that  day  and  that 
hour  knoweth  no  man,  no,  not  the  angels  which  are 
in  heaven,  neither  the  Son,  but  the  Father.'  But 
this  we  do  know,  that  that  moment  need  not  be  a 
subject  of  dark  and  gloomy  forebodings.  On  the 
contrary,  it  will  be  an  epoch  of  glory  for  mankind. 
It  will  be  the  last  triumph  of  man  in  this  world,  his 
final  deliverance  from  the  shackles  of  matter. 

This  view  of  the  nature  of  man,  and  the  contra- 
diction we  find  between  his  faculties  and  his  present 
condition,  naturally  leads  us  to  the  thought,  that  he 
is  not  in  the  position  for  which  he  was  created 
None  of  his  legitimate  aspirations  or  desires  are 
satisfied.  With  an  ideal  conception  of  what  our 
faculties  should  attain,  we  are  ever  prevented  from 
realizing  this  conception.  The  fable  of  Tantalus  is 
the  history  of  mankind.  It  is  natural  that  we  should 
13 


194       COQUEREl's    experimental    CHRISTIANITY. 

seek  a  remedy  for  this  evil.  Thus  for  the  first 
time,  in  this  eiperimenlal  system,  the  idea  of  a  Ve- 
demption  is  suggested.  The  object  of  a  redemption 
must  be  to  stop  man  in  the  course  which  is  es- 
tranging him  from  his  Creator,  and  to  place  liim 
once  more  on  the  right  path.  Such  a  redemption, 
being  intended  for  the  whole  human  race,  could  not 
be  produced  by  a  secret  agency  working  in  the  heart 
of  each  individual.  It  must  be  manifested  in  the 
person  of  a  Saviour.  The  nature  of  the  being  who 
is  to  undertake  so  important  a  work  must  be  of  that 
kind  which  will  enable  him  to  hold  communion  with 
God,  and  at  the  same  time  to  take  a  human  form 
and  live  amongst  men  as  one  of  them.  If  a  Saviour 
had  appeared  in  the  world  of  so  sublime  and  divine- 
like a  nature  as  to  fill  his  contemporaries  with  more 
of  awe  than  of  love,  his  mission  would  have  been  in 
vain.  To  show  man  the  path  which  he  is  to  tread,  it 
is  necessary  that  a  Saviour  should  tread  this  path  him- 
self. He  must  go  through  all  the  diflbrent  stages  of 
a  human  life,  he  must  die,  he  must  rise  from  the  dead. 
In  all  outward  aspects  he  must  belong  to  the  country 
and  to  the  age  which  are  chosen  for  his  mission.  The 
moment  selected  for  the  appearance  of  a  Saviour  in 
the  world  seems  at  first  to  be  a  matter  of  little  impor- 
tance. It  is  not  so,  however.  If  man  has  the  power 
to  separate  himself  more  and  more  from  God,  the 
time  might  come  when  he  could  no  longer  retrace 
his  steps  and  tread  once  more  the  path  which  leads 
him  towards  his  Maker.  It  was,  then,  necessary 
that  the  Redeemer  of  the  world  should  appear  at  that 
precise   moment  when  evil  had   reached   its   highest 


COQUEREL's    experimental   CHRISTIANITY.        195 

point  of  intensity.  If  he  had  come  into  the  world 
before  that  moment,  the  liberty  of  man  would  not 
have  been  respected ;  had  he  come  after  that  mo- 
ment, it  would  have  been  too  late ;  his  mission  would 
have  been  in  vain. 

At  a  certain  period  in  the  history  of  mankind  such 
a  Saviour  was  given  to  the  world.  That  he  was  the 
Saviour  is  proved  by  the  time  of  his  coming,  —  at  a 
moment  when  virtue  and  truth  seemed  alike  banish- 
ed from  the  world,  when  man  had  fallen  so  low 
that  he  did  not  even  attempt  to  assert  his  rights  as  a 
member  of  the  human  race,  but  accepted  his  abject 
and  degraded  condition  as  a  matter  of  course  and 
without  a  murmur,  —  at  a  time  when  the  gladiator 
consented  to  lay  down  his  life  in  the  bloody  amphi- 
theatre for  the  amusement  of  an  indolent  and  cor- 
rupt assembly,  —  at  a  time,  finally,  when,  in  the 
midst  of  orgies  of  which  history  blushes  to  record 
the  obscenity,  the  rich  were  wont  to  place  on  their 
tables  an  ivory  skeleton,  as  a  memento  of  the  brevity 
of  life,  and  when  '  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to- 
morrow we  die,'  was  a  common  and  favorite  maxim, 
Jesus  Christ  then  appeared;  the  world  was  arrested 
in  its  progress  towards  evil ;  the  world  was  overcome. 
since  then  the  progress  of  mankind  has  been  constant 
on  the  road  of  peace,  truth,  and  charity.  There 
may  have  been,  in  the  eighteen  centuries  which  have 
elapsed  since  Christ  came  into  the  world,  moments 
when  mankind  have  seemed  to  retrograde,  but  no 
one  can  honestly  deny  that  each  successive  age  of  the 
Christian  era  has  been  superior  to  the  preceding. 

That   Jesus  Christ  was   the  Saviour  is,   moreover, 


196       COQUEREL's   experimental   CHRISTIANITY. 

proved  by  the  place  selected  for  his  mission.  Sit- 
uated near  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  Palestine  may 
be  considered  as  the  historical  centre  of  the  Old 
World.  Originating  in  such  a  position,  the  new 
faith  could  the  sooner  spread  to  neighboring  countries. 
Had  its  birthplace  been  more  remote  from  the  West- 
ern world,  the  stationary  and  immovable  habits  of  the 
Asiatic  race  might  have  stifled  it  in  its  blossom.  If, 
on  the  contrary,  its  birthplace  had  been  in  Eu- 
rope, there  would  have  been  danger,  with  the  ardent 
and  changeable  character  of  the  race  which  inhab- 
its that  continent,  that  the  tradition  of  the  coming 
of  Christ  would  have  been  so  disfigured  and  per- 
verted by  the  time  he  did  appear  in  the  world,  that 
he  would  not  have  been  recognized,  but  have  been  re- 
ceived as  a  stranger.  No  nation  was  better  qualified 
than  the  Jews  to  be  the  guardians  of  the  promise  of  a 
Saviour.  That  it  was  necessary  that  the  mission  of 
Jesus  Christ  should  be  announced  to  the  world, 
scarcely  needs  to  be  proved.  If  it  be  true  that  the 
redemption  was  a  necessary  complement  of  the 
creation,  the  notion  of  a  Saviour  must  have  existed 
ever  since  the  fall  of  man.  Hence,  also,  the  notion 
of  a  revelation,  that  is  to  say,  a  book  in  which 
the  coming  of  a  Saviour  is  announced,  and  in  which 
is  contained  the  realization  of  this  promise.  A  reve- 
lation must  be  in  part  divine,  in  part  human.  The 
divine  part  of  a  revelation  is  called  inspiration.  To 
the  idea  that  parts  of  the  Scriptures  arc  inspired,  it 
is  objected  by  some  that  God  in  creating  man  must 
have  given  him  faculties  which  would  enable  him  to 
discover  truths  without  any  subsequent  Divine   inter- 


COQXTEREL's   experimental   CHRISTIANITY.       197 

vention.  Those  who  reason  thus,  forget  that  man 
is  not  what  God  made  him.  If  man  had  followed 
the  path  which  might  have  led  him  nearer  and  near- 
er to  his  Creator,  he  would  have  required  no  assist- 
ance from  above.  The  necessity  of  a  redemption 
is  the  sole  cause  of  this  mysterious  communication 
between  God  and  man.  Without  sin,  no  redemption 
is  requisite ;  without  a  redemption,  inspiration  is  un- 
unecessary.  Others  object  to  inspiration  on  the 
ground  that  it  is  an  inexplicable  mystery.  How 
presumptuous  are  those  who  reason  thus!  Do  they 
not  see,  that,  in  order  to  understand  how  God 
transmits  his  thoughts  to  man,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  know  how  God  thinks  ? 

There  is  another  objection  to  inspiration,  which, 
at  fii'st  view,  seems  to  be  better  founded.  It  has 
been  asked,  —  What  proof  have  we  of  the  truth  of 
inspiration?  It  were  indeed  vain  for  a  man  to  de- 
clare himself  inspired,  and  to  pretend  to  speak  in 
the  name  of  God,  if  he  could  give  no  proof  of  the 
veracity  of  his  statement.  An  assertion  so  extra- 
ordinary requires  some  evidence.  This  evidence 
cannot  be  internal.  A  man  may  call  himself  in- 
spired, and  may  believe  himself  so,  and  yet  be  a 
madman.  Some  external  evidence  is  necessary. 
This  evidence  may  be  of  two  kinds.  The  truth  of 
inspiration  may  be  proved  by  a  prophecy  or  by  a 
miracle.  The  annunciation  of  coming  events  has 
been  considered  as  a  violation  of  human  liberty. 
This  is  but  another  view  of  the  great  question  of 
human  liberty,  and  does  in  no  way  render  the  mys- 
tery   greater.     If  God  is  God,  that  is  to  say,  if  he 


198       COQITEREL's    experimental   CHRISTIANITY. 

is  an  omniscient  being,  we  must  admit  that  none  of 
our  actions  are  hidden  from  him.  If,  then,  at  times, 
for  some  great  purpose,  he  makes  known  to  the 
world  events  which  would  otherwise  remain  hidden 
in  the  future,  we  cannot  conceive  that  the  liberty 
of  man  is  more  affected  than  if  these  events  were 
not  foretold.  God  knows  that  the  Saviour  has  a 
false  friend  who  is  about  to  betray  him,  and  the 
Saviour  himself  announces  the  crime  of  Judas.  We 
do  not  see  in  what  way  the  liberty  of  Judas  is  more 
affected  than  if  this  event  had  not  been  announced. 

The  power  of  prophecy  must  of  course  be  con- 
sidered as  a  great  proof  of  the  truth  of  inspiration. 
But  this  proof  is  not  sufficient.  Such  evidence  can 
be  conclusive  only  for  those  who  live,  not  at  the 
time  when  the  prophecy  is  made,  but  at  the  moment 
when  it  is  accomplished.  The  contemporaries  of 
him  who  calls  himself  inspired  must  also  have  some 
proof  of  the  veracity  of  this  assertion.  If  he  pos- 
sesses the  power  of  performing  miracles,  he  will  be 
believed.  A  miracle  has  commonly  been  defined  to 
be  a  momentary  suspension  of  the  laws  of  nature. 
This  definition  is  evidently  erroneous.  To  declare 
that  an  event  has  taken  place  in  virtue  of  a  mo- 
mentary suspension  of  the  laws  which  govern  the 
world,  it  would  be  necessary  to  know  all  these  laws. 
Where  is  the  man  who  would  presume  to  pretend 
to  so  much  knowledge?  The  views  of  our  author 
on  this  important  subject  are  as  follows.  As  the 
object  of  the  redemption  of  mankind  was  to  lead 
the  world  back  to  the  state  it  was  in  before  the  fall 
of  man,   it   must    have    the   power  to   revive   for  a 


COQTTEREL's    EXPEKIMENTAL    CHRISTIANITY.       199 

time  those  forces  which  existed  in  the  world  prior  to 
that  event,  and  which  since  then  have  remained  la- 
tent. A  miracle,  then,  is  simply  the  result  of  these 
forces  brought  into  action  by  the  regeneration  of  the 
world.  Miracles  thus  become  a  necessary  portion  of 
a  revelation.  They  not  only  prove  what  we  have 
already  said,  that  physical  suffering  was  the  result 
of  moral  evil ;  they  moreover  prove  the  efficacy  of 
a  redemption  which  has  the  power  to  revive  the 
hidden  forces  of  nature.  But  it  may  be  objected  to 
this  theory,  that  some  of  the  events  which  are  related 
in  the  Scriptures  as  miraculous  are  in  perfect  harmony 
with  the  well  known  laws  of  our  nature.  This  is  true ; 
but  they  are  nevertheless  miracles,  because  they  occur 
by  the  order  of  some  inspired  man.  A  violent  wind 
might  blow  and  separate  the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea ; 
but  that  this  event  should  have  happened  at  the  order 
of  Moses,  so  that  the  Israelites  might  pass  through 
the  sea,  it  is  this  that  constitutes  the  miracle.  No 
miracle  occurs  except  on  the  order  of  one  inspired ; 
and  the  reason  is  obvious.  If  the  miracle  was  in 
contradiction  to  the  laws  of  nature  with  which  we 
are  accquainted,  it  would  be  considered  as  an  extra- 
ordinary event,  as  a  phenomenon;  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  was  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  laws  of 
nature  of  which  we  have  a  certain  knowledge,  it 
would  pass  unnoticed.  In  either  case,  it  would  be 
without  use.  By  this  theory  it  will  be  seen  that  M. 
Coquerel  takes  nothing  from  the  importance  of  the 
miracles.  He  not  only  believes  in  their  truth,  but 
even  denies  that  a  redemption  could  have  been  ef- 
fected without  their  aid.     They  form  an  important,  an 


200       COQUEREL's   experimental   CHRISTIANITY, 

essential,  part  of  revelation.  They  are  the  evidence 
of  the  right  of  the  ancient  prophets  to  announce 
the  coming  of  the  Saviour;  they  arc,  moreover,  the 
guaranty  of  the  truth  of  his  mission. 

Thus,  by  a  natural  and  simple  train  of  thought,  we 
are  led  to  the  notion  of  a  redemption,  which  wc  find 
realized  in  history  with  abundant  proof  But  were  wc 
left  to  our  own  reason,  wc  should  still  be  convinced  of 
the  truth  of  Christ's  mission.  Who,  if  it  were  not  a 
fact,  could  have  imagined  a  life  so  perfect  as  that  of 
Jesus,  under  circumstances  similar  to  those  of  every 
human  life  ?  Who  could  have  imagined  the  Son  of 
God,  the  Messiah,  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  under  the 
humble  garb  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  ?  The  mind  could 
undoubtedly  have  pictured  to  itself  the  ideal  of  human 
perfection ;  it  could  have  clothed  a  being  with  all  the 
attributes  which  it  would  desire  for  itself ;  but  it  could 
never  have  imagined  the  solemn,  yet  simple,  scenes 
of  the  life  of  Christ, — his  birth  in  a  manger  at  Beth- 
lehem, his  pure  and  holy  life,  those  scenes  of  his 
mortal  career  in  which  he  showed  himself  so  similar 
to  us  in  all  things  excepting  sin,  his  tears  for  the  death 
of  Lazarus,  his  joy  at  the  success  of  the  preaching  of 
his  disciples,  his  humble  bearing  towards  his  mother, 
his  slow  and  painful  death  on  the  cross,  his  touching 
farewell  to  his  mother  and  to  the  beloved  disciple, 
and,  finally,  his  glorious  resurrection!  No.  Left  to 
itself,  the  mind  would  have  overdrawn  the  picture. 
An  ideal  Christ  would  have  been  either  too  distinct 
from,  or  too  similar  to,  those  amongst  whom  he  was 
to  live  and  die. 

Now  that  we  have  arrived  at  the  notion  of  a  rcdemp- 


COQUEREl's   experimental    CHRISTIANITY.       201 

tion,  and  find  this  notion  has  been  realized  in  the 
world  by  the  mission  of  Jesus  Christ,  let  us  examine, 
with  our  author,  into  the  manner  in  which  we  ought  to 
understand  revelation.  The  first  thought  which  pre- 
sents itself  here  is,  that  the  Christian  religion,  as  re- 
vealed in  the  New  Testament,  has  been  commonly- 
considered  as  mere  instruction,  as  a  theoretical  collec- 
tion of  doctrines.  To  this  view  M.  Coquerel  objects. 
According  to  him,  Christianity  is  something  far  better, 
far  more  practical.  It  is  a  new  and  salutary  impulse 
given  to  mankind.  It  addresses  itself  alike  to  all  the 
faculties,  to  all  the  tendencies,  of  our  nature.  Had  it 
been  but  a  cold  and  lifeless  system,  like  the  philo- 
sophical systems  of  antiquity,  it  would  have  addressed 
itself  to  but  one  of  these  tendencies  ;  it  would  have  ad- 
dressed itself  to  the  intellectual  power  alone.  In  other 
words,  Christianity  is  not  theology.  He,  who  reads  the 
Scriptures  with  a  view  merely  to  examine  certain  theo- 
logical points,  understands  them  not.  He  takes  a  part 
of  religion  for  the  whole.  He  considers  it  merely  as  a 
science,  forgetting  that  the  Saviour  himself  has  said : 
'  If  ye  know  these  things,  happy  are  yp  if  ye  do  them.' 
In  the  Scriptures,  instruction  is  never  considered  as  an 
object,  but  solely  as  a  means  of  attaining  to  a  more 
spiritual  life,  and  to  a  better  knowledge  of  God.  The 
method  employed  in  the  revelation  is  either  to  make 
truth  visible  by  means  of  indisputable  facts,  or  to  pre- 
sent it  as  certain,  or  to  state  it  as  an  axiom,  or  to  leave 
it  in  so  dim  and  vague  a  light  that  our  'reason  cannot 
entirely  understand  it. 

There  are  but  few  truths  taught  in  the  Scriptures  by 
the  first  of  these   methods.     The  greatest  of  these  is, 


202     coquerel's  experimental  Christianity. 

unquestionably,  the  resurrection  of  Christ.  In  an  age 
when  the  external  appearances  of  death  had  hidden 
from  the  general  eye  the  truth  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  it  was  necessary  to  show  by  a  fact  that  man 
rises  from  the  dead  the  same  as  when  he  descends 
into  the  grave,  —  that  is  to  say,  that  his  identity  is  pre- 
served, that  he  knows  his  friends,  and  that  they  know 
him. 

All  those  truths,  which  are  so  intimately  connected 
with  the  Infinite  as  not  to  be  susceptible  of  demonstra- 
tion, are  considered  as  certain  in  the  Scriptures.  These 
truths  are  the  attributes  of  God,  our  creation,  our  lib- 
erty, and  Divine  Providence.  Here  is  another  proof 
that  revelation  was  not  intended  as  a  didactic  work. 
The  Scriptures  are  full  of  these  truths ;  they  form  the 
very  basis  of  our  religion  ;  and  yet,  throughout  the 
Bible,  there  is  no  demonstration  of  them. 

The  truths  which  are  considered  as  axioms  are  those 
which  relate  directly  to  our  condition  in  this  world. 
Not  a  word  is  to  be  found  in  the  Scriptures  on  the 
organization  of  the  family  or  society,  on  personal  free- 
dom, political  order,  or  many  other  questions  which 
form  the  object  of  so  much  of  our  speculation.  If  the 
Gospels  were  the  work  of  man,  and  not  of  God,  they 
would  be  replete  with  theories  on  all  these  subjects. 
How  different  is  the  work  of  God !  To  all  the  errors 
which  existed  in  the  world  with  regard  to  these  im- 
portant questions  at  the  time  of  the  ministry  of  Christ, 
the  Gospel  opposes  no  argument,  no  vituperations.  It 
does  not  attack  despotism  as  the  most  flagrant  viola- 
tion of  all  human  rights,  or  polygamy  as  the  subversion 
of  all  morality.     The  only  arms  it  uses  against  them 


COQTTEREl'S   experimental    CHRISTIANITY.       203 

are  the  fundamental  principles,  the  spirit,  of  Christi- 
anity. '  Our  religion,'  says  M.  Coquerel,  '  is  the  first 
and  only  religion  which  has  shown  this  astonishing 
confidence  in  the  authority  of  truth,  to  take  the  world  as 
it  found  it,  without  directly  attacking  any  of  its  forces ; 
to  throw  truth,  as  by  chance,  into  the  midst  of  it,  like 
the  invisible  seed  which  is  sown  by  the  wind,  and  to 
predict  that  this  seed  will  certainly  take  root  and  grow 
into  that  large  tree  under  the  shade  of  which  mankind 
may  take  refuge  against  every  error  and  every  evil.' 

There  are,  finally,  some  truths  which  are  left  in  so 
vague  a  light  as  to  be  incomprehensible  to  us  in  our 
present  mode  of  existence.  To  the  following  questions, 
some  of  which  have  been  the  cause  of  so  much  strife 
in  the  Christian  world,  the  Scriptures  give  no  satisfac- 
tory reply  :  —  What  is  the  divine  nature  of  Christ  ? 
How  are  the  soul  and  body  united  ?  Does  all  com- 
munication cease  between  the  living  and  the  dead  ? 
What  will  be  the  organization  of  man  in  another  world  ? 
What  is  the  nature  of  angels  and  demons  ?  These 
questions  remain  unanswered,  it  is  true,  because  in 
our  present  condition  the  solution  of  such  problems  is 
entirely  unnecessary  for  our  progress.  We  do  not 
mean,  however,  to  say  that  an  examination  of  these 
curious  and  interesting  problems  must  necessarily  be 
dangerous.  Philosophy  and  religion  may  alike  specu- 
late on  them,  provided  they  do  not  attempt  to  give  to 
the  results  of  their  investigations  an  importance  which 
they  cannot  really  possess. 

In  this  rapid  sketch  of  the  work  under  review,  we 
have  now  arrived  at  a  point  where  it  becomes  neces- 
sary to  inquire  into  the  future  destinies  of  our  religion. 


204     coquerel's  experimental  Christianity. 

We  must  now  endeavor  to  ascertain  what  arc  the  tri- 
umphs reserved  for  Christianity,  both  in  this  world  and 
throughout  eternity.  The  first  thought  that  naturally 
strikes  us  in  connection  with  this  subject  is,  that  Chris- 
tianity ij  the  final  religion  of  mankind.  Jesus  Christ 
is  the  only  Saviour  who  will  ever  be  given  to  the 
world.  We  have  two  guaranties  of  this  fact.  First, 
the  Christian  religion  is  entirely  independent  of  every 
thing  which  surrounds  it.  It  can  exist  in  all  places, 
in  every  climate,  under  all  governments,  and  with 
every  degree  of  civilization.  How  different  in  this 
respect  from  all  false  religions !  You  may  destroy  the 
Sinai  or  the  Calvary,  Rome,  Wittenberg,  or  Geneva, 
and  efface  them  from  the  memory  of  man,  —  the 
Christian  religion  will  still  exist.  If  you  destroy  Jeru- 
salem and  its  temple,  the  Jewish  religion  has  no  longer 
any  meaning ;  Christianity  may  plant  its  standard  on 
any  shore  and  in  every  soil.  False  religions  are  de- 
pendent even  on  the  differences  of  climate  which  exist 
in  different  countries.  The  symbolism  of  the  Egyp- 
tians cannot  be  conceived  of  elsewhere  than  on  the 
borders  of  the  Nile,  that  of  the  Indians  but  in  the 
valley  of  the  Ganges  or  the  Indus ;  the  mythology  of 
Greece  belongs  to  the  warm  and  genial  climate  of  that 
lovely  land,  that  of  Odin  to  the  cold  and  frosty  climate 
of  the  North.  Thus  independent  of  every  thing  ex- 
ternal, Christianity  must  be  the  final  religion  of  man- 
kind. 

The  second  guaranty  which  we  have  that  Christian- 
ity is  the  final  religion  of  mankind,  is  still  more  con- 
clusive. It  addresses  itself  alike  to  all  our  powers,  to 
all  our  tendencies.   To  the  intellectual  power  it  promises 


coqtjerel's  expekimental  ciikistianity.     205 

infinite  knowledge  ;  from  the  moral  power  it  demands 
perfection  ;  from  the  affections  it  demands  love  without 
end  towards  God  and  a  similar  love  for  our  fellow-men. 
St.  John  says, — '  He  that  loveth  not  his  brother  whom 
he  hath  seen,  how  can  he  love  God  whom  he  hath  not 
seen  ?  '  To  the  tendency  toward  happiness  our  religion 
promises  eternal  felicity  ;  and,  finally,  Christianity  sat- 
isfies our  religious  tendency  in  showing  us  that  our 
union  with  God  may  become  more  and  more  perfect. 
A  religion  which  thus  takes  hold  of  man  by  all  his 
faculties  must  be  the  final  religion  of  mankind.  A 
new  religion  would  find  nothing  new  to  teach. 

The  influence  of  Christianity  has  been  as  yet  of  two 
kinds.  It  has  had  a  direct  influence  on  those  who 
profess  it,  and  an  indirect  influence  on  those  who  do 
not  believe  in  its  doctrines,  or  who  are  ignorant  even 
of  its  existence.  All  the  progress  made  in  the  world 
for  the  last  eighteen  centuries  may  be  ascribed  to  it. 
But  this  indirect  influence  is  not  sufficient.  If  Chris- 
tianity is  the  final  religion  of  mankind,  the  time  must 
come  when  all  men  will  profess  its  doctrines.  This 
time  will  come.  But  before  our  religion  can  become 
the  universal  religion  of  the  human  race,  it  must  un- 
dergo different  changes  or  modifications,  which  our 
author  classes  under  the  following  heads. 

First,  Christianity  must  be  freed  from  all  ecclesi- 
astical rules.  The  moral  and  religious  laws  which 
are  given  in  the  Scriptures  are  general,  and  never 
enter  into  minute  details  of  conduct.  The  applica- 
tion of  the  law  is  left  to  each  individual.  The  lib- 
erty of  man  is  thus  respected.  In  the  Gospels,  we 
do  not  even  find  any  forms  of  prayer  or  of  public 


206     coquerel's  experimental  Christianity. 

worship  prescribed ;  any  rules  as  to  the  rites  of 
marriage  or  the  duties  of  a  married  life,  to  death 
or  mourning  for  the  dead.  Man,  and  man  alone,  has 
attempted  to  prescribe  a  certain  number  of  rules, 
which  cannot  with  impunity  be  transgressed.  Such 
a  course  is  in  direct  opposition  to  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity. It  is,  moreover,  absurd  and  impracticable. 
In  endeavoring  lo  write  down  rules  of  conduct  which 
man  must  follow,  who  can  pretend  not  to  forget  a 
single  article  ?  Happy  would  it  be,  however,  for 
Christianity,  if  the  sins  committed  in  these  dangerous 
attempts  were  only  sins  of  omission.*  It  is  a  cheer- 
ing sight  to  the  Christian,  to  observe  that  many 
Catholics  of  the  present  day  prefer  to  seek  in  their 
own  conscience  for  the  approbation  or  condemnation 
of  their  actions,  rather  than  from  their  confessor. 
Christianity  must,  and  will  ultimately,  be  entirely 
freed  from  this  pernicious  system. 

Christianity  must,  in  the  second  place,  be  freed 
from  all  clerical  hierarchy.  It  is  evident  that  the 
distinction  of  the  layman  from  the  priest  is  not  as 
old  as  our  religion.  Thus,  for  example,  the  admin- 
istering of  the  sacrament  was,  in  the  early  ages,  a 
family  rite.  The  father  of  the  family  was  in  the 
habit  of  breaking  the  bread  and  distributing  it  to  his 

*  M.  Coquerel  published  a  few  years  ago  aa  admirable 
letter  to  the  Archbishop  of  Lyons,  on  the  subject  of  a  work 
published  in  his  diocese  entitled,  — '  CoUaliones  praclica?  of 
the  Seminary  of  St.  FU)ur,'  —  a  work  in  which  are  recorded 
crimes  and  abominations  which  one  would  rather  expect  to 
find  in  the  Epigrams  of  Martial  than  in  the  productions  of  a 
priest. 


COQUEREl's   experimental   CHRISTIANITY.       207 

children.  Whether  the  time  will  come  or  not  when 
Christianity  can  entirely  dispense  with  all  outward 
forms  of  worship,  and  consequently  with  a*  clergy 
to  celebrate  that  worship,  is  a  question  which  we 
cannot  solve.  The  progress  which  our  religion  must 
make  in .  this  respect  will  tend  to  destroy  all  cleri- 
cal hierarchy,  to  make  all  the  ministers  of  God  equal. 
This  progress  has  been  attained  in  many  Protestant 
churches.     It  will  finally  be  universal. 

Christianity  must,  thirdly,  be  set  free  from  all  au- 
thority, no  matter  under  what  name  it  shows  itself. 
No  man  and  no  body  of  men  has  a  right  to  step 
between  God  and  the  Christian.  All  obligatory  pro- 
fessions of  faith  will  be  abolished. 

Our  religion  must  also  be  delivered  from  all  exag- 
geration in  respect  to  the  importance  of  outward 
forms.  The  principle,  that  God  is  spirit,  and  must 
be  worshipped  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  and  that  it  mat- 
ters little  what  are  the  forms  of  this  worship,  must 
be  universally  adopted.  A  truly  Christian  spirit  may 
be  hidden  under  the  most  absurd  and  vain  ceremo- 
nies. 

Christianity  must  likewise  be  delivered  from  all 
superstitious  views  as  to  the  literal  interpretation  of 
the  Scriptures. 

Our  religion  must,  finally,  be  freed  from  the  belief, 
that  faith  in  a  certain  dogmatic  interpretation  of  the 
Scriptures  is  necessary  to  salvation.  Much  progress 
has  already  been  made  in  'this  respect.  Christian 
communities  are  already  beginning  to  he  convinced 
that  a  man  may  be  truly  Christian,  although  his  in- 
terpretation of  the  Scriptures  be  entirely  opposed    to 


208     coquerel's  experimental  Christianity. 

their  own.  The  conscience  of  the  Christian  world  is 
indignant,  when,  in  our  own  times,  a  bull  is  issued 
from  the  pontifical  throne  of  Rome,  declaring  that 
moral  virtue  is  of  no  value  in  the  sight  of  God,  or 
when  such  men  as  Newton,  Clarke,  and  Locke  are 
declared  to  be  bad  Christians  because  they  did  not 
believe  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  When  the 
whole  world  shall  have  been  convinced  that  there  is 
but  one  faith  necessary  to  salvation,  that  which  each 
man  has  formed  for  himself  by  the  sincere  and  con- 
scientious study  of  revelation,  then  the  final  triumphs 
of  Christianity  in  this  world  will  be  at  hand.  For 
the  last  eighteen  centuries  man  has  sought  in  vain 
for  peace  and  harmony  in  a  complete  unity  of  doc- 
trine and  of  faith.  Let  him  seek  for  this  peace  in 
the  unity  of  all  Christian  hearts,  and  his  search  will 
not  be  vain. 

Such  arc  the  changes  through  which  Christianity 
must  pass  before  it  can  become  the  universal  relig- 
ion of  mankind.  If  we  now  ask  what  changes  our 
religion  must  undergo  before  it  can  become  the  re- 
ligion of  eternity,  the  idea  will  naturally  present  it- 
self, that  Christianity  must  be  freed  from  the  notions 
of  time  and  space.  If  we  view  our  religion  in  this 
new  light,  we  shall  naturally  be  led  to  consider  heaven 
and  hell,  not  as  two  distinct  places,  in  which  the 
just  arc  rewarded  and  the  sinner  is  punished,  but  as 
two  difierent  dispositions  of  the  mind.  In  a  future 
existence,  we  siiall  be  what  we  have  made  ourselves. 
If  we  have  used  our  faculties  to  approach  God,  we 
shall  be  recompensed  by  the  approbation  of  our  con- 
science ;  if  we  have  used  them,   on  the  contrary,  to 


COQTTEREL's    experimental   CHRISTIANITY.       209 

separate  ourselves  from  him,  we  shall  suffer  all  the 
pangs  of-  an  evil  conscience.  The  question  here 
presents  itself,  whether  these  sufferings  will  be  eter- 
nal ;  whether  there  is  no  hope  of  a  final  reconciliation 
between  God  and  all  his  children.  The  answer  to 
such  questions  is  simple.  It  is  possible  for  man  eter- 
nally to  misuse  his  faculties.  We  have  already  said 
that  the  road  which  leads  him  away  from  God  is 
as  infinite  as  the  road  which  leads  him  towards  his 
Heavenly  Father.  Man  may,  then,  eternally  suffer, 
because  he  may  eternally  do  wrong.  But,  because 
this  possibility  exists,  ought  we  to  believe  that  it  will 
ever  be  realized }  Is  it  not  more  in  harmony  with  the 
consoling  instructions  of  our  religion,  to  believe  that 
the  time  will  come  when  God  will  be  all  in  all  ?  We 
have,  indeed,  in  the  nature  of  man,  almost  a  certain 
guaranty  that  he  will  not  be  eternally  miserable.  If  he 
retain  the  consciousness  of  his  actions  in  another  life, 
he  will  know  that  he  has  sinned,  and  that  therefore  he 
suffers.  Is  it  not  natural,  then,  to  suppose  that  he 
will  seek  to  rise  from  his  state  of  degradation,  and 
to  join  those  heavenly  legions  who  are  on  the  road 
of  progress?  We  confidently  believe  that  the  time 
will  come  when  all  beings  will  form  but  one  great 
family.  We  cannot  but  pity  those  who  wilfully  deny 
themselves  so  beautiful  and  consoling  an  expectation, 
and  who  believe  that  an  eternity  of  suffering  awaits 
every  sinner.  But,  alas !  what  shall  we  say  of  those 
who  believe  that  all  who  do  not  profess  the  same 
creed  with  themselves  will  be  irretrievably  lost? 
We  turn  from  such  a  deplorable  aberration  of  the 
human  mind,  and  thank  God  that  we  do  not  believe 
14 


210        COQUEREL's    experimental    CHRISTIANITY. 

in  so  horrible  a  doctrine.  We  can  cast  our  eyes 
over  the  whole  extent  of  this  world  and  contemplate 
the  beings  who  people  it,  without  fearing  to  meet  the 
eye  of  one  —  yes,  not  even  of  one  —  sentenced  to 
so  hard  a  doom. 

We  liave  endeavored,  in  the  preceding  pages,  to 
trace,  as  rapidly  as  possible,  the  principal  features 
of  M.  Coquerel's  remarkable  work.  It  will  be  seen 
that  he  examines  frankly  and  thoroughly  all  the  prob- 
lems which  our  religion  suggests.  Whether  we  accept 
his  conclusions  or  not,  the  position  which  he  holds 
in  France  and  the  influence  which  he  exerts,  entitle 
his  opinions  to  consideration,  especially  when  delib- 
erately expressed  with  a  reference  to  the  present 
interests  of  society  and  religion.  To  say  how  soon 
the  pure  Christianity  of  which  he  has  given  the  out- 
line in  this  book  will  be  popular  in  France,  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  human  foresight.  In  a  country  which 
is  comparatively  new  to  so  pure  a  faith,  it  can  hardly 
be  expected  that  it  should  be  immediately  adopted. 
But  the  time  will  certainly  come,  when  the  French, 
as  all  other  nations,  will  relinquish  the  superstitious 
errors  of  the  past,  and  adopt  a  Christianity  founded 
on  a  broader  and  more  liberal  basis.  Our  unshaken 
confidence  in  the  truth  of  our  religion,  and  in  the 
purity  of  the  form  of  Christianity  which  we  profess, 
renders  us  firm  in  our  belief  that  the  time  will  certainly 
come,  when  all  Christians  will  agree,  not  on  theologi- 
cal points,  which  will  ever  remain  open  to  discussion, 
but  on  all  subjects  essential  to  their  progress  in  this 
world  and  throughout  the  different  stages  of  their 
future    existence.      The   time   will   come,    when   the 


COQUEREL's   experimental    CHRISTIANITY.       211 

spiritual  power  of  the  pope  will  no  longer  be  felt  in 
its  influence  on  mankind ;  perhaps  the  activity  which 
has  rendered  Pius  IX.  so  popular  is  but  a  display  of 
that  preternatural  strength  which  not  unfrcquently 
announces  an  approaching  dissolution.  The  time  will 
come,  when  the  confessions  of  faith  of  La  Rochelle 
and  of  Augsburg,  or  the  contradictory  articles  adopted 
by  the  Church  of  England,  will  no  longer  be  con- 
sidered as  binding.  And  all  these  changes  will  occur 
without  much  struggle.  The  churches  now  dedicated 
to  the  Roman  Catholic  worship  will  be  converted  into 
Protestant  temples;  they  will  not  be  destroyed.  The 
tapers  which  burn  on  the  altars,  as  if  the  light  of 
the  sun  were  not  a  light  sufficient  for  the  worship 
of  God,  will  be  extinguished ;  the  works  of  art  which 
adorn  them  will  be  transported  to  some  museum; 
the  confessional  will  be  removed ;  the  priest  in  his 
rich  and  varied  dresses  will  no  longer  officiate  at 
an  altar  stripped  of  all  its  splendor ;  incense  will  no 
longer  rise  to  the  Gothic  roof;  but  multitudes  will  still 
throng  the  church  to  hear  the  word  of  God  read  and 
explained. 

We  could  wish,  for  M.  Coquerel's  sake,  that  he 
might  live  to  witness  these  tranquil  triumphs  of 
Christianity  over  the  errors  of  the  past.  Few  men, 
indeed,  have  done  more  towards  hastening  the  relig- 
ious progress  of  their  country  than  he.  Those  who 
are  acquainted  with  his  life  know  how  much  courage 
it  has  required  to  hold  his  ground  in  the  Reformed 
Church  of  Paris.  Surrounded  by  clergymen  who 
believe  in  the  creed  of  St.  Athanasius,  and  in  the 
impossibility  of  salvation  for  those  who  do  not  accept 


212       COQUEHEL's    experimental    CHRISTIANITY. 

that  masterpiece  of  human  ingenuity,  he  has  been  con- 
stantly attacked  by  his  colleagues  in  the  most  bitter 
manner.  To  these  invectives  he  has  replied  with 
firmness,  but  without  overstepping  the  limits  of  Ciiris- 
tian  charity.  Peace  and  unity  in  the  Church  have 
been  the  constant  theme  of  his  eloquent  preaching. 
We  remember  to  have  heard  him  on  one  occasion, 
after  having  exhorted  his  hearers  to  maintain  peace 
with  those  of  their  brethren  whose  doctrinal  views 
differed  from  their  own,  exclaim : — 'Do  you  not  hear 
the  sound  of  those  who  are  waiting  at  the  doors  of 
this  church  to  be  admitted  to  commune  with  you?  O, 
no!  You  hear  them  not.  The  noise  of  our  vain  and 
sterile  disputes  has  buried  their  voice  ! '  May  his  per- 
severance and  his  courage  be  recompensed !  When 
at  the  hour  of  his  death  he  shall  look  around  him 
and  does  not  see  the  seed  which  he  has  sown  bursting 
forth  into  a  rich  and  fertile  harvest,  he  will  console 
himself  with  the  thought  that  he  has  done  his  duty, 
and  that  God  will  do  the  rest.  He  will  remember 
that  St.  Paul  has  said  —  '  I  have  planted,  ApoUos 
watered,  but  God   gave  the  '  increase. ' 


THE  REVOLUTION  IN  PRUSSIA, 


1.  Handbuch  des  Staatswirthschaftlichen  Slatistik  und  Ver- 
waltungskunde  der  Preussischen  Monarchic.  Von  Dr. 
Friedrich  Benedict  Weber,  Professor  zu  Breslau.  Breslau. 
1840.     8vo.    pp.  835. 

2.  Versuch  einer  Statistik  des  Preussischen  Staaies.  Von 
Dr.  Traugott  Gotthilf  Voigtel,  Oberbibliothekare  und 
Professor  der  Geschichte  an  der  Universitat  zu  Halle.  Halle. 
1837.     8vo.     pp.  274. 

3.  Preussen's  Staatsmttnner .  Vier  Lieferungen.  Leipzig. 
1841-42. 

4.  Augsburger  Allgemeine  Zeitung.     Marz,  April,  Mai,  1848. 

Amidst  the  events  that  have  agitated  Europe  during 
the  past  year,  the  revolution  which  occurred  in  Berlin 
on  the  18th  of  March  deserves  particular  notice.  The 
commanding  position  which  Prussia  occupies  as  the 
great  Protestant  power  of  Continental  Europe,  the  past 
history  of  that  country  to  which  Frederic  the  Great 
imparted  so  bright  a  lustre  by  his  military  genius,  and, 
more  than  all,  the  rapid  growth  of  a  kingdom  which, 
humble  and  recent  as  is  its  origin,  has  for  the  last 
half-century  ranked  among  the  most  powerful  states  of 
Europe,  all  serve  to  give  to  the  political  commotions 
which  agitate  it  an  unusual  degree  of  interest.     There 


214  '  THE    REVOLITTION    IN   PRUSSIA. 

is,  indeed,  something  so  impressive  in  the  sight  of  a 
great  and  powerful  nation  like  the  Prussian  rising  up 
against  its  rulers,  and  overthrowing  in  a  few  hours  the 
whole  political  organization  of  the  state,  that  it  must 
engage  our  attention  and  awaken  our  sympathies,  even 
at  a  time  when  revolutions,  shaking  and  overturning 
mighty  thrones,  convulsing  society  to  its  centre,  and 
arming  brother  against  brother  within  the  walls  of  a 
common  city,  have  become  every-day  occurrences. 
And  when  we  consider  the  peculiar  characteristics  of 
a  nation,  perhaps  better  educated  than  any  other  in 
Europe,  a  nation  which  has  ever  enjoyed  the  reputation 
of  being  sincerely  attached  to  its  sovereigns,  and  which 
was  certainly  never  suspected  of  being  animated  by 
that  daring  and  restless  spirit  which  causes  a  people 
to  embrace,  for  the  sake  of  change,  any  schemes  of 
reform,  however  wild  or  absurd  they  may  be,  we  feel 
that  our  interest  is  not  misplaced,  for  we  know  that 
such  a  nation  would  not  raise  the  standard  of  rebellion, 
unless  it  were  actuated  by  some  powerful  and  just 
motive.  The  lamentable  events  which  in  February 
last  changed  the  form  of  government  in  France  —  the 
only  effect  of  which  has  been,  as  far  as  we  are  able  to 
see,  to  discredit  republicanism  in  Europe  —  may  have 
given  the  signal  for  the  outbreak  in  Berlin.  When  the 
news  of  another  French  revolution  reached  the  capital 
of  Prussia,  it  was  not  unnatural  that  the  people  should 
think Ithe  moment  was  favorable  for  them  also  to  take 
up  arms,  and  endeavor  to  obtain  from  the  king  some 
political  guaranties.  But  it  would  be  rating  the  Prus- 
sian nation  far  too  low,  to  suppose  that  this  foolish 
desire  of  imitating  that  revolution,  the  importanc%' of  • 


THE    EEVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  215 

which,  owing  to  the  poetical  halo  which  Lamartine 
had  succeeded  in  casting  around  it,  was  greatly  mag- 
nified in  the  eye  of  the  distant  observer,  alone  actuated 
them.  Nor  would  it  be  more  just  to  attribute  their 
glorious  struggle  to  the  machinations  of  those  who 
profess  the  fantastic  and  absurd  doctrines  of  com- 
munism or  socialism,  which  we  should  view  but  with 
contempt,  if  they  were  not  liable  to  produce  so  much 
mischief  and  crime.  Such  a  party  undoubtedly  exists 
in  Prussia,  and  has  long  wished  to  revolutionize  the 
state,  and  to  profit  by  disorder  and  anarchy  in  order  to 
build  up  their  own  shattered  fortunes.  But  this  party 
alone  did  not  make  the  Revolution  of  Berlin,  and  we 
must  seek  elsewhere  for  the  cause  of  that  mighty 
struggle,  which,  for  a  time,  seemed  to  endanger  the 
existence  of  royalty  in  Prussia. 

In  the  history  of  all  the  monarchies  of  Europe, 
there  are  two  great  and  inevitable  contests, which  have 
already  taken  place,  or  are  yet  to  come.  The  first 
is  the  struggle  of  royalty  against  the  feudal  system ; 
the  second  is  the  struggle  of  the  people  against  the 
unlimited  power  of  the  sovereign.  It  was  the  peculiar 
good  fortune  of  France  to  experience,  earlier  than  any 
other  European  state,  the  first  of  these  revolutions. 
Louis  XI.  and  Cardinal  Richelieu  —  much  as  the  du- 
plicity of  their  conduct  is  repugnant  to  our  moral 
feelings- — did  a  great  work  for  France.  They  labored 
to  destroy  the  many  sovereignties  which  divided  the 
country,  and  to  form  one  united  nation  under  the  yoke 
of  a  despot.  The  Revolution  of  1789  accomplished 
the  second  change.  The  absolute  power  of  the  crown 
was  broken  down,  and  its  authority  limited. 


216         THE  REVOLUTION  IN  PRUSSIA. 

It  was  not  so  in  Germany.  The  first  of  these  two 
crises  is  not  to  be  found  in  her  history  till  a  much 
later  period.  The  feudal  system  existed  in  that  coun- 
try down  to  the  present  century.  The  second  struggle, 
upon  which  the  German  nations  have  but  just  entered, 
must  also  be  accomplished.  The  recent  revolutions  at 
Berlin  and  Vienna  have  been  but  progressive  steps  in 
•this  inevitable  course.  This  view  of  these  events  ex- 
plains the  difference  in  the  feelings  excited  within  us 
by  the  Revolutions  of  Paris  and  of  Berlin.  We  cannot 
but  consider  the  first  as  useless  and  criminal,  —  not  so 
much  a  revolt  against  despotism,  or  a  generous  move- 
ment in  favor  of  liberty,  as  one  against  order  and  in 
favor  of  the  wildest  anarchy.  The  second  we  regard 
as  legitimate  and  just.  Prussia  has  emerged  from 
childhood.  Prosperous  in  her  commerce  and  industry, 
in  science  and  literature  at  the  head  of  all  German 
nations,  and  alive  to  a  sense  of  the  importance  of  the 
part  which  she  might  be  called  upon  to  play  in  the 
future  destinies  of  Germany,  she  could  no  longer  bear 
to  be  held  in  the  leading-strings  of  paternal  despotism. 
She  had  been  long  enough  deceived  by  her  rulers ; 
she  no  longer  trusted  in  tlieir  promises,  but  relied  on 
her  own  strength  to  assort  her  long-denied  rights. 
This  is  not  the  place  to  prove  that  the  Revolution  of 
Paris  was  needless  and  wrong.  Every  impartial  mind, 
even  though  at  first  seduced  by  the  high-sounding 
promises  of  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity,  and  by 
the  pompous  eloquence  of  Lamartine,  must  by  this 
time  be  convinced  of  the  truth  of  this  assertion.  As 
to  the  second  of  our  propositions,  that  the  revolution 
which  has  transformed  the  military  depotism  of  Prussia 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  217 

into  a  constitutional  monarchy  was  legitimate,  we  think 
that  a  brief  sketch  of  the  history  of  that  kingdom  since 
the  French  Revolution  of  '89  will  sufficiently  prove 
it. 

Frederic  William  III.,  the  father  of  the  present  king 
of  Prussia,  ascended  the  throne  in  1797,  at  a  time 
when  it  required  more  than  ordinary  talents  to  wield 
the  sceptre.  The  treasury  was  nearly  bankrupt,  owing 
to  the  folly  and  extravagance  of  the  preceding  king. 
The  army,  which  under  Frederic  the  Great  had  excited 
the  admiration  of  Europe,  had  been  completely  dis- 
graced by  the  profligacy  of  that  monarch.  Prussia 
had  been  dishonored  by  the  humiliating  treaty  con- 
cluded with  France,  and,  added  to  these  causes  of 
difficulty  within  the  kingdom  itself,  the  principles  of 
the  French  Jlevolution  were  beginning  to  be  dissemi- 
nated throughout  Europe.  It  was  evident  that  the  new 
king  would  be  obliged  either  to  resist  the  growing 
spirit  of  innovation,  or  to  favor  those  reforms  which 
the  progress  of  the  age  demanded.  Fortunately  for 
Prussia,  Frederic  William,  without  being  a  man  of 
superior  talents,  had  the  welfare  of  his  subjects  at 
heart,  and  was  willing  to  surround  himself  with  able 
and  faithful  counsellors.  The  first  acts  of  his  reign 
were  calculated  to  render  him  popular.  He  abrogated 
the  edicts  which  his  father  had  promulgated  on  relig- 
ious matters  and  the  press.  He  sought,  as  much  from 
taste  as  principle,  to  maintain  the  strictest  neutrality  in 
European  politics,  but  became  finally  involved  in  the 
coalition  of  1805  against  France,  a  coalition  which 
was  dissolved  by  the  battle  of  Austerlitz.  He  was 
obliged  again  to  take  up  arms  when  Napoleon  formed 


218  THE   REVOLUTION   IN   PRUSSIA. 

the  Confederacy  of  the  Rhine.  It  was  his  desire  to 
establish  a  confederacy  of  the  states  of  Northern  Ger- 
many, as  a  counterpoise  to  the  ambitious  schemes  of 
the  French  emperor  in  the  Southern  states ;  but  he 
could  not  accomplish  this  object.  Without  a  single 
ally,  then,  Prussia  was  obliged  to  encounter  France 
in  1806.     The  battle  of  Jena  decided  her  fate. 

It  has  been  said  by  a  German  writer,  that  it  was 
Fred(^ric  the  Great  who  was  defeated  at  Jena.  There 
is  much  of  philosophic  truth  in  this  remark.  It  was  he 
who  had  given  to  Prussia  a  new  system  of  laws,  and 
opened  in  the  kingdom  innumerable  sources  of  wealth 
and  prosperity.  It  was  he  who,  by  humbling  the  pride 
of  the  house  of  Austria,  had  given  her  that  ascendency 
which  she  has  since  enjoyed.  But  from  the  time  of 
his  death  in  1786,  every  thing  had  remained  un- 
changed. Not  one  step  in  advance  had  been  taken 
during  the  reign  of  his  imbecile  successor,  Frederic 
William  II.,  and  in  1806  the  Prussian  monarchy  was 
almost  exactly  in  the  same  condition  as  when  Frederic 
the  Great  expired.  The  feudal  system  of  privileged 
and  distinct  classes  had  been  maintained.  The  greater 
part  of  the  soil  was  in  the  hands  of  the  aristocracy, 
who  could  neither  divide  nor  sell  their  estates,  nor 
leave  them  by  will  to  a  commoner.  Neither  could  the 
noble  become  the  owner  of  the  landed  property  of  a 
commoner,  or  of  the  farm  of  a  peasant,  nor  could  he 
exercise  the  trade  of  a  commoner.  At  a  time  when 
the  French  Revolution  was  beginning  to  bear  its  fruits, 
and  to  inspire  the  rest  of  Europe  with  a  desire  for 
the  reorganization  of  society  on  a  more  liberal  and 
equitable  basis,  this  antiquated  system  —  in  which  the 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  219 

accident  of  birth  exerted  so  fatal  an  influence  on  the 
whole  life  of  a  man  —  was  still  in  force  in  Prussia. 
And  it  was  these  two  powers,  Prussia  and  France,  — 
the  one  but  a  lifeless  corpse,  which  had  retained  only 
the  semblance  of  a  form  after  the  spirit  of  Frederic 
had  abandoned  it ;  the  other  full  of  youthful  vigor» 
and  inspired  by  those  principles  of  independence  and 
equality  which  had  grown  out  of  the  Revolution  — 
it  was  these  two  powers  which  met  in  the  field  of 
Jena. 

Could  the  result  of  the  contest  be  doubtful  ?  Brought 
into  contact  with  these  new-creating  principles,  the 
old  system  crumbled  into  dust.  Prussia  fell,  as  many 
thought,  never  more  to  rise.  The  Peace  of  Tilsit 
(1807)  deprived  her  of  all  her  provinces  between  the 
Elbe  and  the  Rhine,  as  well  as  of  her  possessions  in 
Poland,  including  in  all  about  five  millions  of  subjects. 
She  was,  moreover,  obliged  to  pay  120,000,000  francs 
to  the  French  government,  and  to  support  11,000 
French  troops  in  the  very  heart  of  the  kingdom. 
Might  it  not  well  have  seemed,  even  to  the  wisest,  that 
Prussia  was  for  ever  crushed  ?  It  was  not  so,  how- 
ever ;  and  it  is  not  a  paradox  to  afiirm,  that  nothing 
but  so  heavy  a  blow  could  have  saved  her  from 
utter  ruin.  The  defeat  at  Jena  brought  to  light  the 
defectiveness  of  the  old  organization  of  the  Prussian 
monarchy.  Until  then,  king  and  nobility  had  alike 
opposed  all  plans  of  reform.  Experience  taught  them 
wisdom.  Not  quite  a  year  had  elapsed  after  that 
memorable  battle,  when  the  king  called  Baron  Von 
Stein  to  preside  over  his  ministry,  and  a  new  era  was 
opened  in  Prussian  history. 


220  THE   REVOLUTION   IN   PRUSSIA. 

This  distinguished  man,  to  whom  Prussia  owes  more 
than  to  any  other  individual,  if  we  except  Frederic  the 
Great,  had  been,  it  is  said,  recommended  to  the  king 
by  Napoleon,  who  called  him  '  un  homme  d'' esprit.'' 
Stein  was  something  more,  and  Napoleon  himself  soon 
discovered  it.  He  determined  to  reform  his  country, 
to  raise  her  from  her  humbled  condition,  and  to  enable 
ner,  when  the  moment  should  arrive,  to  free  herself 
from  the  yoke  of  foreign  dominion.  The  principles 
on  which  he  proposed  to  found  his  reforms  may  thus 
be  summed  up: — 'What  the  state  loses  in  extent 
must  be  regained  in  intensity  of  power.  That  which  is 
old  has  perished  ;  everything  must  be  created  anew, 
if  Prussia  is  ever  to  resume  her  importance  among  the 
nations  of  Europe.  In  what  remains  of  the  former 
larger  state  there  arc  hostile  elements.  These  must 
be  got  rid  of,  in  order  to  make  room  for  a  united 
whole.  The  different  classes  arc  at  variance  with  each 
other,  on  account  of  the  favor  which  the  one  has  al- 
ways enjoyed,  and  of  which  the  others  did  not  partake. 
Union  gives  strength.  Equal  rights  to  all  members  of 
the  state,  no  order  being  more  favored  than  another, 
must  be  introduced,  if  union  is  desired.  Each  citizen 
must  have  the  same  duties  towards  the  state.  Each 
must  be  personally  free,  and  obey  only  one  master,  the 
king,  with  his  code  of  laws  in  his  hand.  And  in  order 
that  duties  and  rights  may  be  equal,  and  that  the 
former  be  not  oppressive  for  any  one,  there  must  be  a 
national  representation,  by  moans  of  which  better  laws 
may  be  made.  Everj-  man  must  be  allowed  to  exer- 
cise freely  his  powers,  and  to  follow  his  own  tastes 
and  judgment,  so  long  as  he  does  not  pass  the  limits 


THE    KEVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  221 

prescribed  by  religion,  morality,  and  the  laws  of  the 
land.  All  landed  property  must  be  accessible  to  every 
one  wishing  to  acquire  it ;  acquisition  and  possession 
must  be  facilitated  by  suitable  laws.  The  administra- 
tion of  communities  by  government  officers,  or  by 
single  privileged  individuals,  is  a  dangerous  practice, 
which  precludes  all  unity  of  feeling,  and  which  must 
be  remedied.  No  one  in  the  state,  whether  a  corpo- 
ration or  an  individual,  should  be  judge  in  his  own 
cause.  The  judiciary  must  therefore  be  separated 
from  the  executive.  All  must  be  governed  by  the 
same  laws  ;  consequently,  there  must  be  but  one  judicial 
authority,  whose  verdicts  shall  reach  alike  the  highest 
and  the  lowest.  Every  one,  except  the  criminal  who 
tramples  religion,  morality,  and  the  law  under  foot, 
must  enjoy  his  liberty.  The  servant,  too^  must  be 
free ;  the  contract  which  binds  him  to  his  chosen  mas- 
ter must  not  deprive  him  of  his  civil  liberty.  Master 
and  servant  must  be  protected  by  the  same  law.  Mental 
cultivation  elevates  a  people,  and  the  higher  it  is  car- 
ried, the  higher  will  be  their  place  in  the  confederacy 
of  civilized  nations.  Education  is  the  condition  of  all 
progress  in  order,  power,  and  prosperity.  The  state 
must  demand  this  education.' 

No  sooner  had  Stein  accepted  the  difficult  post  which 
had  been  intrusted  to  him,  than  he  devoted  all  the 
energies  of  his  superior  intellect  to  the  execution  of 
the  reforms  of  which  we  have  given  the  outline.  He 
remained,  however,  but  one  year  in  the  cabinet,  and 
could  not,  of  course,  carry  out  all  his  plans  in  that 
time.  What  he  did,  however,  was  enough  to  entitle 
him  to  the  lasting  gratitude  of  his  country.     By  the 


222  THE    REVOLTTTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

edict  of  October  9th,  1807,  all  Prussian  subjects  were 
allowed  to  acquire  and  hold  property  of  any  description 
whatsoever.  By  this  measure,  the  hereditary  subjec- 
tion of  the  peasantry  to  the  proprietors  of  the  estates 
on  which  they  were  bom  was  suspended.  Another 
edict  removed  the  absurd  restrictions  which  had  until 
then  fettered  the  proprietor,  not  only  in  the  disposal, 
but  even  in  the  cultivation,  of  his  land.  These  two 
edicts  paved  the  way  for  the  entire  emancipation  of 
the   Prussian   people. 

Another  most  important  measure  of  Von  Stein's 
administration  was  the  edict  reforming  the  municipal 
organization  of  the  cities.  This  edict,  known  under 
the  name  of  the  Stadte  Ordnung,  was  intended  to 
give  the  citizens  a  more  direct  influence  on  all  affairs 
relating  to  their  community.  ^Frederic  William  I. 
had  taken  from  the  cities  almost  all  their  privileges. 
It  was  the  object  of  his  narrow  and  despotic  policy 
to  bring  everything,  as  much  as  possible,  under  the 
direct  influence  of  the  central  government.  All  mu- 
nicipal magistracies  were  therefore  confided  to  gov- 
ernment officers.  It  was  to  do  away  with  the  evils 
resulting  from  such  a  system  that  the  edict  just  men- 
tioned was  promulgated.  Its  object  was  to  awaken  a 
public  spirit.  The  citizen  was  not  only  to  take  care 
of  his  own  property,  but  to  have  a  share  in  the 
interests  of  his  community.  The  wisdom  of  such  a 
measure  will  be  readily  understood.  By  granting  to 
the  middle  classes  a  share  in  the  local  administration 
of  the  cities  in  which  they  resided,  a  stronger  attach- 
ment was  awakened  in  them  for  their  common  country. 
Patriotism   is   always    developed    in    proj)ortion   as   a 


TftE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  223 

nation  is  admitted  to  take  a  part  in  the  administra- 
tion of  its  own  affairs.  Loyalty  may  exist  under  the 
sway  of  a  despotic  ruler;  but  we  cannot  conceive 
of  patriotism  without  liberty. 

In  thus  breaking  down  the  old  feudal  system,  and 
granting  to  the  cities  a  more  liberal  organization,  as 
indeed  in  all  the  other  reforms  of  the  minister,  his 
object  was  twofold.  He  wished,  in  the  first  place, 
to  prepare  the  nation  for  that  struggle  with  France 
which  he  felt  must  sooner  or  later  decide  the  des- 
tinies of  Prussia  and  Germany.  He  understood  that 
a  nation  in  which  the  larger  proportion  of  the  inhab- 
itants have  no  interest  at  stake,  but  follow  blindly  the 
dictates  of  a  privileged  class,  was  incapable  of  re- 
sisting the  invasion  of  a  nation  like  the  French,  in 
which  the  most  perfect  equality  reigned,  notwithstand- 
ing the  despotism  of  its  chief.  It  was  not  by  mere 
brute  force  that  a  French  army  could  be  opposed. 
To  conquer  it,  it  became  necessary  to  borrow  some- 
what from  the  principles  by  which  it  was  animated. 
It  was  in  consequence  of  this  conviction,  that  Von 
Stein,  notwithstanding  his  patriotic  hatred  for  eveiy- 
thing  French,  followed  the  French  Revolution  as  his 
model  in  many  of  his  proposed  reforms.  But  he  had 
another  object  in  view.  He  desired  to  increase  the 
power  and  influence  of  Prussia  in  the  conduct  of  the 
affairs  of  Germany.  He  himself  has  said, — '  My 
desire  to  see  Prussia  prosper  did  not  proceed  from  a 
blind  attachment  to  that  country,  but  also  from  the 
conviction,  that  the  divisions  of  Germany  weaken  her, 
destroy  her  national  honor  and  feeling,  and  render 
her    incapable    of    any   good    government.      German 


224  THE   REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

princes  should  remember  that  the  independence  of 
Germany  depends  on  the  moral  and  physical  force  of 
Prussia.'  It  was  his  hope,  that,  by  giving  liberal  in- 
stitutions to  Prussia,  she  might  become  the  central 
point  round  which  would  be  collected  the  different 
nationalities  of  Germany. 

The  measures  of  which  wc  have  spoken  were  but 
the  first  of  the  long  series  of  reforms  which  Von  Stein 
proposed  to  make  in  the  institutions  of  his  country. 
Unfortunately  for  Prussia,  he  was  not  permitted  to  ac- 
complish the  work  which  he  had  so  nobly  commenced. 
In  November,  1808,  Napoleon,  having  learned  that 
Von  Stein  had  formed  schemes  for  the  deliverance 
of  Germany  from  his  dominion,  forced  the  King  of 
Prussia  to  dismiss  him  from  the  public  service.  Pre- 
viously to  leaving  the  cabinet,  he  communicated  to 
the  administration  a  paper  in  which  his  views  as  to 
the  government  of  the  state  were  boldly  and  clearly 
set  forth.  Although  he  signed  this  document,  he  did 
not  himself  draw  it  up.  To  Schon,  another  Prussian 
statesman  and  patriot,  belongs  the  honor  of  composing 
this  valuable  scheme,  known  as  the  political  testa- 
ment of  Von  Stein.  Had  the  views  set  forth  in  this 
document,  which  maintained  that  a  general  national 
representation  was  indispensable  in  order  that  the 
sovereign  might  become  acquainted  with  the  wants  of 
the  people,  been  carried  out,  it  is  difficult  to  say  how 
much  bloodshed  and  how  many  storms  Prussia  might 
have  escaped. 

On  Hardenberg  fell  the  difficult  task  of  succeeding 
to  Von  Stein.  Three  departments  of  the  administra- 
tion were  intrusted  at  once  to  this  statesman,  —  that 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA,  225 

of  Foreign  Affairs,  of  the  Interior,  and  of  Finance. 
The  work  to  be  done  in  each  was  imnnense,  and 
would  have  intimidated  a  less  consummate  statesman 
than  Hardenberg.  His  first  care,  on  taking  the  reins 
of  government  into  his  hands,  was  to-provide  for  the 
payment  of  the  sum  stipulated  by  the  treaty  of  Tilsit. 
Prussia  had  suffered  so  much,  and  had  been  so  im- 
poverished by  the  war,  that  it  was  a  subject  of  serious 
discussion,  whether  the  province  of  Silesia  should  not 
be  ceded  to  France  in  payment  of  the  debt.  Har- 
denberg was  not  the  man  to  accede  to  so  humiliating- 
a  proposition.  He  effected  a  loan  in  Holland,  which 
enabled  him  to  avert  the  danger  with  which  the  non- 
payment of  the  French  claim  would  have  threatened 
his  country ;  and  he  then  devoted  himself  to  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  reform  commenced  by  his  predecessor. 
In  his  external  policy,  he  sought  for  an  alliance  with 
England.  In  his  internal  reforms,  France  was  his 
model,  as  it  had  been  that  of  Von  Stein.  It  was 
his  wish  to  attain  in  Prussia,  by  peaceful  means,  that 
which  in  France  had  been  the  result  of  a  stormy 
and  bloody  revolution.  In  the  following  words  he  has 
himself  well  expressed  his  intentions:  —  'My  system 
rests  on  this  basis,  that  each  member  of  the  state 
shall  be  free  to  develope  and  exercise  his  powers 
without  hindrance  from  the  arbitrary  will  of  another; 
that  justice  shall  be  administered  with  impartiality; 
that  merit,  in  whatever  rank  it  is  found,  shall  be 
rewarded ;  and  that  education,  true  piety,  and  appro- 
priate institutions  shall  create  in  our  country  one  inter- 
est and  one  spirit,  upon  which  to  found  our  prosperity 
and  our  security.' 
15 


286        THE  REVOLUTION  IN  PRUSSIA. 

The  several  edicts  published  during  Hardenberg's 
administration  were  of  the  utmost  importance.  The 
exemption  of  tlie  aristocracy  from  taxation  was  sus- 
pended. All  the  old  corporations  of  trades  were 
abolished,  and  the  trades  opened  alike  to  all  Prussian 
subjects.  This  measure,  which  was  one  of  the  most 
effectual  means  of  breaking  up  the  old  forms  of  so- 
ciety, met  with  considerable  opposition,  not  only  on 
the  part  of  those  privileged  families  which  had  be- 
longed to  these  corporations,  but  also  of  those  philan- 
thropists and  political  economists  who  censured  it  on 
account  of  the  increase  of  misery  and  vice  which 
it  was,  in  their  estimation,  likely  to  produce  amongst 
the  working  classes.  The  number  of  unskilful  master- 
workmen,  said  they,  would  augment,  whilst  that  of 
the  subordinate  workmen  would  be  proportionally 
diminished,  owing  to  the  desire  which  every  artisan 
would  experience  to  exercise  his  trade  on  his  own 
account.  Moreover,  the  increase  of  workmen  and 
tradesmen  would  be  entirely  out  of  proportion  to  the 
general  increase  of  the  population.  Experience  has 
proved  these  views  to  have  been  erroneous.  Statis- 
tical returns  show  that,  witli  the  exception  of  a  few 
trades,  as  those  of  butcher,  tailor,  shoemaker,  baker, 
bookbinder,  carpenter,  &c,,  the  number  of  tradesmen, 
although  considerably  increased,  has  not  been  so 
disproportionably  to  the  increase  of  the  general  pop- 
ulation ;  and  that  the  number  of  persons  engaged 
in  such  trades  as  those  of  the  furrier,  leather-dresser, 
tanner,  glazier,  «Stc.,  has  diminished.  It  is  also  sliown, 
that  the  number  of  workmen  compared  with  that  of 
masters   has   not  diminished,  but   in   many  cases  in- 


THE    KEVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  227 

creased ;  and  also  that,  far  from  being  less  skilfully 
trained  than  under  the  old  organization  of  the  trades, 
the  improvement  in  labor  and  workmanship,  as  a 
general  thing,  has  been  quite  marked.  To  every  im- 
partial judge,  it  must,  we  think,  appear  that  the  meas- 
ure of  Hardenberg  was  wise  and  politic.  By  opening 
trade  indiscriminately  to  all  Prussian  subjects,  com- 
petition, without  which  trade  must  always  languish, 
was  excited,  and  industry  was  gradually  brought  to 
its  present  flourishing  condition. 

What  had  been  done  for  trade  was  also  accom- 
plished for  agriculture.  It  was  freed  from  the  shackles 
which  had,  until  then,  prevented  its  development. 
By  the  law  of  September  14,  1811,  the  peasantry 
first  acquired  the  right  of  becoming  hereditary  pos- 
sessors of  the  soil.  Their  labor  was  no  longer  to 
profit  their  masters  only ;  they  could  now  work  for 
themselves  and  their  families.  The  good  effects  of 
this  measure  were  soon  felt.  In  the  hands  of  a 
peasantry  enjoying  the  right  of  possession  and  trans- 
mission, agriculture  improved  immensely.  Not  only 
was  more  land  cultivated  than  had  previously  been 
the  case,  but  now  that  it  was  cultivated  by  those 
who  were  to  reap  the  harvests,  every  means  was 
taken  to  make  it  yield  all  that  nature  had  intended 
it  should.  There  was  much  opposition  to  the  pro- 
mulgation of  this  edict.  In  the  then  ruined  condition 
of  the  country,  when  the  larger  portion  of  the  estates 
of  the  aristocracy  were  burdened  with  debts,  to  de- 
prive the  owners  of  the  rents  which  they  received 
from  their  peasant-tenants  was  in  fact  to  deprive  them 
of  their   estates.     Many   of  these  estates  were   sold, 


228  THE   REVOLUTION   IN   PRUSSIA. 

and  frequently  purchased  by  rich  capitalists,  whose 
wealth  had  been  acquired  in  trade. 

Such  sweeping  measures,  causing  so  much  of  the 
landed  property  to  pass  into  new  hands,  might  seem  un- 
just, if  we  did  not  consider  the  peculiar  circumstances 
under  which  they  had  been  adopted.  Hardenberg  felt 
the  absolute  necessity  of  improving  the  condition  of 
the  finances,  and  he  saw  no  other  means  but  those 
which  he  used  to  attain  his  object.  In  viewing  the 
law  which  thus  deprived  so  many  of  the  old  proprie- 
tors of  their  estates  in  order  to  create  a  new  class 
of  landholders,  we  should  also  bear  in  mind,  that 
all  Hardenberg's  measures  were  taken  with  a  view 
of  preparing  his  country  for  that  constitution  which 
he,  as  well  as  Von  Stein,  desired  to  give  to  Prussia, 
and  which  she  has  only  just  acquired  by  means  of 
a  bloody  conflict.  The  new  class  of  proprietors 
formed  by  the  legislation  of  September,  1811,  was 
destined  to  gain  every  day  in  wealth,  influence,  and 
power;  and  Hardenberg  could  not  but  have  seen, 
that  it  would  soon  be  ready  to  claim  its  share  in 
the  government  of  the  country.  Had  it  not  been 
the  intention  of  the  minister  ultimately  to  grant  a 
national  representation,  he  surely  would  not  have 
created  so  powerful  a  force  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
state.  He  was  too  profound  a  statesman  not  to  fore- 
see, that  the  day  was  not  far  distant,  when  not  even 
a  military  power  could  resist  the  progress  of  the 
middle  classes,  and  maintain  a  despotic  form  of  gov- 
ernment in   Prussia. 

While  Hardenberg  was  carrying  out  his  reforms 
in  the  civil  organization  of  the  state,  Dohna,  Scharn- 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  229 

horst,  Gneisenau,  and  Grolman  were,  as  one  may 
say,  creating  a  new  army.  The  army  which  had 
been  defeated  at  Jena  was  constituted  according  to 
the  principles  of  the  old  system,  which  Stein  and 
Hardenberg  so  strenuously  labored  to  break  down. 
A  nobleman  alone  could  attain  the  rank  of  an  offi- 
cer,—  doubtless  in  virtue  of  the  remark  of  Frederic 
the  Great,  that  a  nobleman  alone  can  know  what 
honor  is.  The  common  soldier,  excluded  from  all 
prospect  of  advancement,  was  a  degraded  being,  over 
whom  his  superiors  exercised  the  most  cruel  tyranny, 
whilst  the  peasant  and  the  citizen  feared  him  as  one 
to  whom  life  and  honor  were  alike  indifferent.  Many 
foreigners  were  enlisted  in  the  army.  Flogging  was 
used  as  a  means  of  retaining  them  in  the  service, 
and  of  urging  them  on  to  battle.  All  this  the  dis- 
tinguished military  men  whom  we  have  named  deter- 
mined to  reform.  The  barriers  which  prevented  the 
common  soldier  from  rising  by  his  valor  and  his  in- 
dustry to  the  highest  rank  in  the  army  were  taken 
down.  In  a  word,  the  army  was  thoroughly  reorgan- 
zed.  The  energy  which  was  displayed  in  this  work, 
laid  the  foundations  of  that  military  system  which  was 
recently  admired  throughout  Europe  for  its  superior 
arrangement. 

Not  too  soon  had  Prussia's  statesmen  commenced 
the  difficult  work  of  reform.  Before  they  could  com- 
plete their  task  as  they  desired,  they  were  obliged  to 
prepare  for  war.  Napoleon  had  been  defeated  in 
Russia,  and  the  French  army  was  fast  approaching  the 
Prussian  frontier.  The  government  sought  to  gain  as 
much  time  as  possible ;  but  when  war  could  no  longer 


230  THE   REVOLUTION   IN   PRUSSIA. 

be  avoided,  the  king — although  reluctantly,  such  was 
his  desire  for  peace  —  retired  to  Breslau,  where  he 
signed  the  treaty  of  alliance  with  Russia,  and  issued 
the  famous  proclamation,  calling  upon  his  people  to 
struggle  against  the  dominion  of  France,  and  to  free 
Germany  for  ever  from  Napoleon's  despotic  sway. 
The  long  expected  war  broke  out.  Prussia,  new- 
created  since  the  battle  of  Jena,  displayed  in  this 
war  an  energy  surprising  indeed,  when  we  reflect  on 
the  short  time  which  had  been  allowed  her  for  pre- 
paration. The  army,  no  longer  resting  its  strength 
on  slavish  discipline  alone,  but  animated  by  patriot- 
ism, and  the  desire  not  only  of  freeing  Prussia  from 
foreign  dominion,  but  of  securing  liberal  institutions, 
proved  itself  invincible.  The  French  were  expelled 
from  the  country.  History  has  seldom  recorded  a 
more  remarkable  struggle,  or  a  more  glorious  vic- 
tory. 

But  neither  has  history  often  recorded  so  cruel  a 
deception  as  that  which  awaited  those  who  had  not 
hesitated  to  risk  their  lives  for  their  king  and  country. 
The  people  had  hoped  to  obtain  their  liberty  by  this 
war,  which,  in  their  enthusiasm,  they  called  '  the  holy 
war.'  Holy,  indeed,  would  it  have  been,  had  Prussia's 
monarch  not  deceived  his  subjects  in  order  to  induce 
them  to  take  up  arms.  When  we  look  back  to  the 
period  of  Prussia's  struggle  for  her  liberties,  and  then 
call  to  mind  the  long  series  of  disappointments  which 
followed,  only  closed  by  the  bloody  revolution  which 
has,  let  us  hope,  insured  to  her  for  ever  the  precious 
blessing  of  liberty,  we  are  forcibly  reminded  of  the 
mournful  and  prophetic  words  written  by  the  patriot 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  231 

Arndt  in  1813:  —  'All  will  have  been  in  vain,  —  so 
much  blood,  so  much  labor,  will  have  been  expended 
in  vain,  —  if  our  rulers,  in  whose  hands  are  our 
destinies,  do  not  rise  to  a  pure  faith  in  God  and  the 
people.  If  they  still  continue  to  seek  only  the  grati- 
fication of  their  petty  ambition,  the  age  will  be  con- 
vulsed by  the  most  dreadful  revolutions,  and  not  until 
long  after  the  earth  has  closed  over  our  remains  will 
a  new  world  arise.' 

When  the  war  was  over,  the  government,  instead  of 
fulfilling  promises  already  made,  continued  to  flatter 
the  nation  by  holding  out  to  them  the  most  cheering 
hopes.  On  the  22d  of  May,  1815,  the  celebrated 
decree,  promising  a  constitutional  form  of  government 
to  Prussia,  was  issued.  This  decree  has  been  of  such 
great  importance  in  the  subsequent  histoiy'of  Prussia, 
that  we  give  it  entire. 

•  The  liistory  of  Prussia  shows,  indeed,  that  the  beneficial  con- 
dition of  civil  liberty,  and  the  continuance  of  a  just  government 
founded  on  order,  have  hitherto  found  as  much  security  in  the 
qualities  of  the  rulers,  and  in  the  harmony  which  exists  between 
them  and  the  people,  as  is  compatible  with  the  imperfection  of 
human  institutions.  But  wishing  to  consolidate  them  still  more, 
and  to  give  the  Prussian  nation  a  pledge  of  our  confidence,  and 
to  posterity  those  principles  upon  which  our  predecessors  and 
ourselves  have  carried  on  the  government  of  our  kingdom  with 
true  solicitude  for  the  welfare  of  our  people,  in  the  form  of  a 
written  document,  as  a  Constitution  for  the  Prussian  state,  we 
have  decided  as  follows  :  — 

'  1.  The  people  shall  be  represented. 

♦  2.  For  this  purpose,  the  provincial  assemblies,  wherever  they 
still  exist,  shall  be  constituted  anew,  and  conformed  to  the  neces- 
sities of  the  times  ;  and  Avhere  none  at  present  exist,  they  shall 
be  introduced. 


232        THE  REVOLUTION  IN  PRUSSIA. 

'  3.  The  representatives  of  the  country  shall  be  chosen  from  the 
provincial  assemblies,  and  shall  sit  in  Berlin. 

'4.  The  authority  of  the  representative  body  is  limited  to 
giving  counsel  on  all  subjects  of  legislation  which  regard  the 
personal  riglits  of  the  subjects  and  their  rights  of  property, 
including  taxation. 

'5.  A  committee  shall  be  appointed,  to  meet  in  the  capital 
without  loss  of  time,  consisting  of  inhabitants  of  the  provinces 
and  enlightened  officers  of  the  state. 

'  G.  This  committee  shall  occupy  itself  vrith  the  organization  of 
the  provincial  assemblies  and  of  the  representation,  as  well  as 
with  the  drawing  up  of  the  constitution  upon  the  principles  now 
established. 

♦  7.  The  committee  shall  meet  on  the  1st  of  September  of  this 
year.' 

The  expectations  which  this  decree  raised  in  the 
public  mind  nmay  easily  be  imagined.  In  the  Rhenish 
provin9es,  especially,  the  excitement  produced  by  its 
promulgation  was  intense.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether 
the  government  had  not  counted  on  so  strong  a  dis- 
play of  feeling  in  connection  with  this  subject,  or 
whether  it  was  from  a  sincere  desire  to  forward  the 
'  real  interests  of  the  nation,  that  two  years  were  suf- 
fered to  pass  without  this  decree  being  acted  upon.  It 
was  not  until  1817  that  a  committee  for  the  forma- 
tion of  the  constitution  was  appointed.  For  a  few 
months,  this  committee  worked  hard  at  the  task  con- 
fided to  them;  but  the  king  having  undertaken  a 
journey  in  the  Rhenish  provinces,  their  labors  were 
suddenly  interrupted.  During  the  king's  sojourn  in 
the  western  portion  of  his  dominions,  a  number  of  pe- 
titions and  addresses  were  presented  to  him,  in  which 
he  was  reminded  in  the  most  direct  manner  of  his 
promises.     He  hastily  quitted  the  provinces,  and  re- 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  233 

turned  to  Berlin,  fully  convinced,  by  what  he  had 
seen,  that  the  nation  considered  a  constitution  as  a 
thing  of  far  too  much  importance  to  make  it  safe 
for  the  government  to  grant  one.  Had  his  subjects, 
like  good  and  docile  children,  patiently  waited  until 
it  should  please  their  royal  father  to  fulfil  his  prom- 
ises, they  would  no  doubt  sooner  have  obtained  their 
wished-for  constitution. 

By  returning  to  Berlin,  the  king  had  hoped  to  es- 
cape the  complaints  and  reproaches  of  his  subjects. 
He  was  mistaken,  however :  for  he  had  hardly  reached 
his  capital,  when  an  address,  drawn  up  at  Coblentz 
on  the  12th  of  January,  1818,  by  Gorres,  the  cele- 
brated leader  of  the  radical  party  in  the  Rhenish 
provinces,  was  transmitted  to  him.  It  served  but  to 
confirm  the  unfavorable  impression  which  his  tour  on 
the  Rhine  had  made  on  his  mind;  and  a  cabinet 
order  was  immediately  published,  declaring,  '  that  nei- 
ther in  the  edict  of  May  22d,  1815,  nor  in  Article 
13  of  the  Act  of  the  Confederation,  is  there  any  time 
fixed  for  carrying  the  constitution  into  execution ;  that 
all  times  were  not  alike  favorable  for  the  introduc- 
tion of  change  in  the  state  ;  that  whoever  reminds 
the  sovereign  of  the  land  of  a  promise  given  on  his 
own  free  decision,  evinces  criminal  doubts  as  to  the 
inviolability  of  his  word,  and  forestalls  his  opinion  as 
to  the  proper  time  for  the  introduction  of  the  con- 
stitution, which  opinion  must  be  as  free  as  the  first 
decision  was ;  and  finally,  that  the  king  would  fix  the 
time  when  the  promise  of  a  constitution  should  be 
fulfilled,  and  would  not  suffer  himself  to  be  hurried 
by  untimely  representations.' 


234        THE  BEVOLUTION  IN  PRUSSIA. 

How  the  hopes  and  expectations  of  the  nation  must 
have  fallen,  on  perusing  this  singular  document !  This 
was,  however,  but  the  first  step  in  that  scries  of  retro- 
grade measures  which  signalized  the  latter  part  of 
Frederic  William's  reign.  The  constitution  was  no 
longer  thought  of,  and  only  at  distant  intervals  was 
it  alluded  to  by  some  ardent  and  patriotic  spirit,  who 
was  soon  silenced.  The  only  act  which  seemed  at 
all  in  harmony  with  the  liberal  promises  of  the  gov- 
ernment was  the  establishment  of  provincial  diets, 
which,  however,  never  proved  very  dangerous  to  the 
general  government. 

But  if  the  king  did  nothing  towards  giving  his 
subjects  a  larger  share  in  the  management  of  public 
affairs,  he  continued  to  rule  them  with  moderation  and 
justice,  and  to  develope  such  of  the  institutions  of  the 
country  as  he  thought  admitted  of  reform  without  en- 
dangering the  royal  prerogative.  To  the  subject  of 
education  he  gave  much  attention.  As  early  as  1809, 
in  the  midst  of  the  dangers  which  then  menaced 
Prussia,  he  had  founded  the  University  of  Berlin. 
In  1818,  he  established  that  of  Bonn,  and  gave  to 
those  which  already  existed  a  new  importance,  by 
organizing  them  on  a  broader  and  more  liberal  basis. 
There  now  exist  in  Prussia  six  universities,  those  of 
Greifswaldc,  Konigsbcrg,  Ilalle,  Berlin,  Breslau,  and 
Bonn.  The  condition  of  the  public  schools  was  also 
greatly  improved.  We  need  not  dwell  upon  the  im- 
portant changes  effected  in  them ;  the  Prussian  school 
system  has  now  for  many  years  been  a  model  for 
imitation  both  in  Europe  and  America.  Other  im- 
provements were  undertaken  during  the  reign  of  Fred- 


THE    REVOLITTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  235 

eric  William  III.;  roads  were  constructed,  canals 
opened,  public  buildings  erected.  Even  during  the 
calamitous  period  which  followed  the  defeat  of  Jena, 
a  million  and  a  half  of  thalers  were  expended  on 
public  works. 

But  of  all  the  events  of  this  important  reign,  none, 
perhaps,  is  of  greater  interest  than  the  formation  of 
the  German  Customs-Union  {Zoll  Verein).  It  had 
been  agreed  at  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  that  the  com- 
mercial intercourse  between  the  different  states  of 
the  German  Confederation  should  become  the  subject 
of  debate  at  the  first  meeting  of  the  Diet  at  Frankfort. 
But  fourteen  annual  meetings  of  the  Diet  at  that 
place  had  been  held  without  any  decisive  step  being 
taken  in  regard  to  this  important  subject;  and  the 
Prussian  government  finally  determined  to  open  direct 
negotiations  with  the  other  states  of  the  Confederation, 
in  order  to  regulate  their  commercial  intercourse. 
It  is  not  strange  that  Prussia  should  have  felt  a  deep 
interest  in  this  matter.  As  arranged  by  the  treaties 
of  1815,  it  is  well  known  that  the  Prussian  monarchy 
presents  in  its  geographical  configuration  two  great 
masses  of  territory,  of  unequal  extent,  and  entirely 
separated  from  each  other.  The  shortest  distance  be- 
tween these  two  distinct  portions  of  the  kingdom  is 
seven  and  three  fourths  German  geographical  miles.* 
The  number  of  petty  states  which  intervene,  each  of 
which  possessed  its  own  custom-house  barriers,  was  a 
serious  obstacle  to  the  development  of  Prussian  com- 


*  21.72  German  geographical  miles  are  equivalent  to  100 
English  miles. 


236  THE    KEVOLTTTION    IN    TRUSSIA. 

merco.  A  treaty  was  therefore  concluded,  in  1828,  by 
the  Prussian  government  with  Hesse-Cassel  and  Hesse- 
Darmstadt,  by  which  the  custom-house  barriers  be- 
tween these  states  were  broken  down.  In  1833,  other 
treaties  were  concluded,  by  which  Bavaria,  Wiirtem- 
berg,  and  Saxony  united  with  the  league.  Since  then, 
some  other  states  have  joined,  and  the  Zoll-Verein 
now  comprises  more  than  29,000,000  of  people.* 
We  cannot,  without  transgressing  our  limits,  enter  into 
any  details  on  this  interesting  subject.  The  objects 
for  which  the  league  was  formed,  moreover,  —  the 
securing  of  a  free  commercial  intcrcoui'se  between 
its  several  members,  the  establishment  of  uniform 
duties,  the  division  of  the  net  produce  of  the  duties 
among  the  different  members  in  proportion  to  their 
population,  —  are  well  known.  It  was,  as  we  have 
said,  of  the  greatest  importance  to  Prussia,  not  only 
in  a  commercial  point  of  view,  but  as  a  means  of 
acquiring  a  political  ascendency  over  the  smaller  states 
of  the  league.  It  might  be  supposed  that  to  Prussian 
custom-house  regulations,  which  had  already  been 
adopted,  would  succeed  the  Prussian  monetary  system, 
Prussian  post-offices,  roads,  weights,  and  measures. 
Austria  has  steadfastly  refused  to  join  the  league; 
and  it  has,  we  believe,  been  generally  understood, 
that  she  would  not  have  viewed  with  so  tranquil  an 
eye  the  peaceful  aggrandizement  of  her  rival,  if  she 
had  not  received  assurances  from  the  Prussian  govern- 

♦  In  1847,  the  number  of  persons  included  in  the  Customs- 
Union  was  29,393,372.  The  gross  receipts  for  that  year  were 
26,927,727  thalers. 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  237 

ment,  that  she  would  be  allowed  to  assert  an  undis- 
puted supremacy  in  Italy.  Of  course,  in  the  present 
condition  of  Europe,  when  nations  seem  to  have 
taken  their,  affairs  into  their  own  hands,  these  as- 
surances have  but  little  value ;  and  we  merely  allude 
to  them,  as  accounting  for  Austria's  apparent  apathy 
in  presence  of  Prussia's  increasing  power  and  influ- 
ence. 

By  such  enlightened  measures  for  the  internal  and 
external  improvement  of  the  kingdom,  the  government 
of  Frederic  William  III.  earned  the  well-deserved  repu- 
tation of  having  zealously  espoused  the  interests  of  the 
nation.  In  the  midst  of  the  prosperity  which  reigned 
around  them,  the  people  for  a  time  forgot  that  their 
legitimate  demands  for  a  larger  share  in  the  govern- 
ment of  the  country  had  not  been  granted.  The 
effects  of  the  Paris  Revolution  of  1830  were,  it  is 
true,  felt  in  Germany ;  but  the  partial  insurrections 
to  which  the  excitement  of  the  popular  mind  gave 
rise  were  soon  put  down  by  the  governments  against 
which  they  were  directed,  and  Germany  once  more 
subsided  into  that  quiescent  state  for  which  she  has 
become  proverbial,  and  from  which  she  has  but  just 
been  aroused. 

The  latter  years  of  the  reign  of  Frederic  William 
glided  away  tranquilly.  The  intellectual  activity  which 
the  people  could  not  bestow  on  political  questions  found 
ample  room  for  development  in  matters  purely  literary 
and  scientific.  Prussia  was  gradually  absorbing  within 
herself  most  of  the  literature  and  science  of  Germany. 
The  press,  fettered  as  it  was  with  regard  to  political 
discussion,  continued  to  be  the  medium  through  which 


238  THE   KEVOLUTION    IN    PRUISSA. 

the  results  of  the  deep  research  and  learning  of  her 
literary  men  were  disseminated  throughout  the  country. 
Ages  and  countries  in  which  political  liberty  has  been 
most  fully  attained,  are  not  always  those  in  which  in- 
tellectual culture  has  reached  its  highest  development ; 
and  we  would  even  ask,  whether  to  the  want  of  that 
liberty  in  Germany  may  not  be  ascribed  that  extraor- 
dinary development  of  her  literature  and  science,  to 
which  there  is  no  parallel  in  any  other  country  in  the 
same  space  of  time.  Her  whole  modern  literature  may 
be  comprised  in  a  period  of  about  one  hundred  years ; 
yet  what  treasures  of  learning,  thought,  and  imagina- 
tion are  there  to  be  found  !  Far  be  it  from  us  to  wish 
to  justify  the  sovereigns  of  Germany  in  denying  to 
their  subjects  a  due  share  in  the  management  of  the 
affairs  of  the  state.  We  merely  question  whether,  if 
her  young  men  had  been  all  engaged  in  dabbling  in 
politics,  in  forming  parties,  or  in  the  pursuit  of  empty 
political  honors,  her  literature  would  have  flourished  as 
it  has.     We  doubt  it. 

After  a  long  and  agitated  reign,  Frederic  William  III. 
died  at  Berlin,  on  the  7th  of  June,  1840.  A  few  days 
after  his  death,  his  political  testament,  which  he  had 
drawn  up  in  1827,  was  published.  The  conclusion  of 
this  document  is  so  characteristic  of  his  policy,  that  we 
give  a  translation  of  it. 

*  On  you,  my  dear  Fritz,  will  repose  all  the  burden  of  the 
affairs  of  government,  with  the  whole  weight  of  their  responsi- 
bility. For  the  discharge  of  them,  you  will  be  better  prepared 
than  most  hereditary  princes  are  by  the  position  in  which  I  have 
placed  you.  It  remains  now  for  you  to  fulfil  my  just  hopes,  and 
the  expectations  of  the  country  j  at  least,  for  you  to  strive  to  do 
so.    Your  principles  and  sentiments  are  a  security  to  me  that 


THE   REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  239 

you  -will  be  a  father  to  your  subjects.  Guard,  nevertheless, 
against  the  desire  for  innovation  so  generally  spread  around  you. 
Guard  also  against  impracticable  theories,  but  at  the  same  time 
against  too  exaggerated  a  taste  for  old  usages ;  the  one  is  as  per- 
nicious as  the  other,  and  beneficial  improvements  can  be  attained 
only  by  avoiding  these  two  evils.  The  army  is  in  a  flourishing 
condition.  It  has  fulfilled  my  expectations,  both  in  peace  and 
in  war,  since  its  reorganization.  May  it  continually  bear  in 
view  its  important  duties  !  Do  not  neglect,  so  far  as  in  your 
power,  to  promote  unity  among  the  European  powers;  but  above 
all,  may  Prussia,  Russia,  and  Austria  never  separate  from  each 
other.  Their  union  may  be  regarded  as  the  key-stone  of  the 
European  alliance.' 

We  shall  not  pause  to  say  much  of  the  character  of 
Frederic  William's  government.  We  trust  that  it  is 
sufficiently  illustrated  by  the  brief  outline  of  his  reign 
which  we  have  endeavored  to  present  to  our  readers. 
That,  under  his  administration,  much  was  done  for  the 
Prussian  monarchy,  no  one  will  deny.  But  the  impar- 
tial historian,  whilst  he  praises  the  monarch  who  en- 
couraged the  reforms  of  a  Von  Stein  and  a  Hardenbers, 
will  not  forget  that  the  same  monarch  was  unmindful 
of  the  promises  made  to  his  people  at  a  period  of  the 
utmost  danger  to  Prussia.  Naturally  humane  and  just, 
his  bigotry  and  his  blind  attachment  to  that  absolute 
authority  which  he  had  inherited  with  the  throne  of  his 
fathers,  often  led  him  to  the  most  arbitrary  and  even 
despotic  acts,  and  to  give  his  consent  to  the  measures 
adopted  by  his  powerful  allies,  Russia  and  Austria,  to 
crush  all  attempts  at  reform.  To  resist  the  power  of 
Napoleon,  he  did  not,  as  we  have  seen,  scruple  to  allure 
his  subjects  by  the  most  seductive  promises,  and  thus 
to  induce  them  to  leave  their  tranquil  homes  and   to 


240  THE   REVOLUTION   IN   PRUSSIA. 

Struggle  for  the  freedom  of  their  country  ;  and  yet,  but 
a  few  years  after  the  French  had  been  expelled  from 
Germany,  a  preacher  at  Berlin,  and  under  his  very  eye, 
could  assert  from  the  pulpit,  without  fear  of  being  con- 
tradicted, that  the  war  of  1813-15  had  been  errone- 
ously called  a  war  of  liberation,  for  the  object  of  that 
war  had  not  been  to  insure  liberty  to  Germany,  but 
merely  to  restore  to  her  rulers  the  unlimited  sovereignty 
of  which  Napoleon  had  for  a  time  deprived  them. 
Well  might  Byron  say, — 

*  Gaul  may  champ  the  bit 
And  foam  in  fetters  !    But  is  earth  more  free  ? 
Did  nations  combat  to  make  one  submit, 
Or  league  to  teach  all  kings  true  sovereignty  ? ' 

Thus,  faithless  in  politics,  Frederic  William  III.  as- 
serted in  religious  matters  the  most  complete  despotism 
over  his  people.  -The  will  of  the  sovereign  became  the 
rule  of  conduct  for  the  subject.  That  which  should  be 
the  sacred  tie  between  man  and  his  Maker  degenerated 
into  a  mere  oflicial  relation  between  the  king  and  the 
nation.  In  1817,  he  had  by  a  royal  decree  expressed 
the  desire,  that  the  Evangelical  Lutherans  and  the 
Evangelical  Reformers  should  unite  in  one  church,  of 
which  he  should  be  the  head,  and  which  should  bear 
the  name  of  Christian  Evangelical  Church  (Christliche 
Evangelische  Kirche).  The  people  quietly  submitted, 
and  although,  since  1830,  there  have  been  frequent 
attempts  on  the  part  of  the  old  Lutheran  party  to 
reconquer  their  former  independence,  and  to  form 
separate  churches,  these  cfibrts  have  for  the  most  part 
proved  ineffectual,  in  consequence  of  the  many  and 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  241 

vexatious  obstacles  thrown  in  their  way  by  the  govern- 
ment. The  king,  however,  in  pursuance  of  his  plan  of 
bringing  all  his  subjects  to  his  own  narrow  views  of 
religion,  persecuted  not  only  those  of  his  people  who, 
although  Protestants,  professed  a  different  creed  from 
his  own,  but  also  those  Catholics  who  form  so  large  a 
proportion  of  the  population  in  some  of  the  provinces  of 
the  kingdom.  The  long  and  heated  debates  between 
the  government  and  the  Archbishop  of  Cologne  in 
1837,  during  which  that  prelate  was  imprisoned  in  the 
fortress  of  Minden,  place  the  king  in  the  not  very 
enviable  light  of  being  probably  the  first  sovereign  in 
Europe,  since  Louis  XIV.,  who  persecuted  alike  his 
subjects  of  both  the  great  Christian  sects. 

Notwithstanding  these  faults,  which  will  leave  an 
indelible  stain  on  his  reign,  Frederic  William  III.  had 
done  much  to  entitle  him  to  the  gratitude  of  his  people, 
and  when  he  died,  the  kingdom  was  in  a  far  better 
condition  than  when  he  ascended  the  throne.  Never 
before,  indeed,  had  Prussia  been  so  flourishing.  The 
finances,  although  the  receipts  were  not  very  great,  — 
the  whole  amount  in  1840  being  52,680,000  thalers,  of 
which  upwards  of  24,000,000  were  expended  for  the 
army,  —  were  in  perfect  order,  and  amply  sufficed  for 
the  expenses  of  the  government.  The  sources  of  rev- 
enue in  Prussia  are  taxation,  government  monopolies, 
and  some  particular  establishments,  such  as  the  state  lot- 
tery, the  bank,  &c.  The  most  important  of  the  indirect 
taxes  are  those  on  imports,  exports,  and  the  transit  of 
goods,  and  the  stamp  tax.  Previous  to  the  formation  of 
the  ZoU-Verein,  the  first  mentioned  of  these  taxes  was 
levied  yearly,  according  to  a  tariff*  which  was  revised 
16 


242  THE    REVOLUTION   IN    PRUSSIA. 

by  the  government  every  three  years.  Of  course, 
since  the  commercial  union  between  Prussia  and  many 
of  the  German  states  has  been  established,  the  common 
tariff  adopted  by  them  can  be  modified  only  with  the 
consent  of  all  the  parlies  concerned.  The  only  gov- 
ernment monopolies  now  existing  in  Prussia  are  the 
salt  tax  and  the  monopoly  of  playing-cards. 

The  happy  condition  of  the  finances,  the  improve- 
ments which  had  taken  place  in  the  kingdom,  the  situ- 
ation of  Europe,  which  had  enjoyed  so  long  a  peace, 
but,  more  than  all,  the  high  estimation  in  which  the 
character  of  the  new  king  was  held,  gave  rise  to  the 
liveliest  hopes  on  his  accession  to  the  throne.  As 
prince  royal,  Frederic  William  IV.  had  the  reputation 
of  being  one  of' the  most  intelligent  and  highly  edu- 
cated princes  in  Europe.  From  an  early  age,  he  had 
been  surrounded  by  the  most  distinguished  men  in  lit- 
erature, science,  and  art.  Ancillon,  Niebuhr,  Schinkcl, 
Ranke,  and  many  others  hardly  less  distinguished,  had 
contributed  to  the  education  of  the  young  prince.  Full 
of  wit  and  humor,  as  well  as  of  imagination  and  fancy, 
—  attached  to  the  past,  and  yet  ever  dreaming  of  some 
bright  ^future,  this  prince,  by  his  kindly  bearing  to  all 
who  were  deserving,  and  by  his  equitable  character,^ 
had  acquired  an  unusual  share  of  popularity.  Had  he 
lived  and  died  as  prince  royal,  his  memory  would  have 
been  cherished  like  that  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans  in 
France.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  be  called  to  a  throne. 
As  prince  royal,  all  the  amiable  traits  of  his  character, 
all  the  qualities  of  his  mind,  had  full  scope  for  develop- 
ment. He  could  charm  a  circle  of  friends  by  his  bril- 
liant and  eloquent  conversation,  he  could  give  full  scope 


THE  REVOLUTION  IN  PRUSSIA.         243 

to  his  vivid  imagination,  and  strike  out  new  and  daring 
schemes  of  reform  and  improvement.  He  could  do  so 
without  danger  either  to  himself  or  to  the  people  ;  but 
as  king,  and  with  the  power  to  will  every  whim  or 
caprice  which  his  head  had  conceived,  the  case  was 
widely  different,  and  since  his  accession  to  the  throne, 
he  has  fully  exemplified  the  line  of  the  French  poet:  — 

•  Tel  brille  au  second  rang  qui  s'eclipse  au  premier.' 

We  do  not  question  his  honesty  or  sincerity.  Dur- 
ing the  eight  years  which  have  elapsed  since  he 
came  to  the  throne,  he  has  sought  to  promote  the 
welfare  and  happiness  of  his  people.  He  has  devoted 
himself  with  uncommon  energy  to  the  study  of  their 
wants.  He  has  labored  hard,  and  passed  nights  in 
earnest  discussion  with  his  friends  and  counsellors. 
Whatever  he  has  been  able  to  do  himself  he  has  not 
left  to  others  to  do.  And  yet,  notwithstanding  all 
this,  his  power  has  been  broken  down  and  his  pride 
humbled,  like  that  of  the  most  miserable  despot. 
It  has  only  been  by  means  of  a  bloody  revolution  that 
his  subjects  have  obtained  from  him  those  political 
institutions  which  they  have  so  long  desired,  and  which 
they  so  confidently  anticipated  that  he  would  grant 
them  on  his  accession  to  the  throne.  If  we  seek, 
however,  to  account  for  this  apparent  contradic'ion, 
the  explanation  will  be  simple.  In  his  views  on  the 
subject  of  the  government  of  Prussia,  the  king  has  been 
altogether  mistaken.  Instead  of  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  his  age,  and  favoring  the  development  of  democ- 
racy,—  and  by  this  word  we  mean  nothing  more  than 
what  it  really  implies,  popular  government,  —  he  has 


244  THE   EEVOLUTION   IN   PBUSSIA. 

constantly  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  past,  and  sought 
there  for  the  ideal  which  he  might  realize  in  his 
dominions.  He  has  not  understood  that,  in  our  day, 
a  sovereign,  unless  he  imitate  the  despotic  policy 
of  the  Czar  of  Russia,  is  but  the  representative  of 
the  will  of  the  nation  over  which  he  rules,  the  dele- 
gate to  whom  they  have  intrusted  their  interests, 
without  renouncing  the  supervision  which  every  em- 
ployer has  over  the  person  he  employs.  Instead  of 
this,  he  fancied  that  the  tie  between  sovereign  and 
people  is  one  of  absolute  authority  on  the  one  hand, 
and  of  blind  and  passive  submission  on  the  other. 
In  his  eyes,  the  extension  of  popular  institutions,  and 
respect  paid  to  the  will  of  the  nation  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  public  affairs,  are  not  the  natural  results 
of  an  improved  civilization,  but  favors  which  a  sove- 
reign may  at  his  pleasure  grant  to  his  subjects,  as 
a  father  would    grant  a  toy  to  his  children. 

Prussia  was  ripe  for  free  institutions  in  1840,  and 
a  finer  opportunity  for  giving  to  the  world  a  memo- 
rable example  of  wisdom  and  moderation  could  not 
have  been  found  than  that  which  then  offered  itself 
to  the  king.  Europe  had  enjoyed  peace  for  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century,  when,  owing  to  the  overbearing 
attitude  of  the  British  cabinet,  and  the  imprudence 
of  M.  Thiers,  then  at  the  head  of  the  French  adminis- 
tration, she  was  on  the  very  eve  of  being  involved 
in  a  calamitous  war.  The  motive  for  such  a  war 
was  but  slight,  and  had  the  long,  but  ill-disguised, 
rivalry  between  the  powers  of  Europe  not  predisposed 
them  to  embrace  the  most  paltry  pretexts  for  taking 
up  arms,  the  affairs  of  the  East  would  not  have  ex- 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  245 

cited  so  deep  an  interest.  The  existence  or  non- 
existence of  a  power  like  that  of  Mehemet  Ali  — 
founded,  as  M.  de  Lamartine  so  well  expressed  it  in 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  on  no  more  solid  basis  than 
the  sands  of  the  desert — would  hardly  have  induced 
the  powers  of  Europe  to  go  to  war.  As  it  was, 
however,  the  danger  of  a  general  conflagration  was 
imminent.  Would  it  not,  then,  have  been  both  wise 
and  natural  for  the  Prussian  government  to  allow 
its  subjects  to  enjoy  the  freedom  for  which  they  had 
been  gradually  fitting  themselves,  and  thus  to  prepare 
them  for  the  war  which  then  seemed  almost  inevi- 
table .?  Twenty-five  years  had  not  been,  as  we  have 
seen,  lost  upon  Prussia.  The  people  had  acquired 
political  information  and  a  taste  for  public  affairs. 
They  were  ready  to  take  a  share  in  the  govern- 
ment. Would  it  not,  then,  we  repeat,  have  been  the 
part  of  wisdom  to  encourage  this  growing  spirit,  to 
favor  its  development,  and  not  to  endeavor  to  crush 
it,  but  only  to  confine  it  in  its  proper  channels.? 
Instead  of  doing  so,  the  government  simply  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  impending  alarm  of  war  to  flatter 
Prussia's  national  pride, — that  dangerous  pillow  on 
which  so  many  nations  have  been  lulled  to  sleep, — 
by  reminding  her  of  the  noble  deeds  which  had  been 
performed  in  the  war  of  1813. 

The  danger  of  war  passed  away,  and  the  condition 
of  Prussia  remained  unchanged.  And  yet  the  en- 
thusiasm displayed  at  Berlin  on  the  15th  of  October, 
1840,  would  have  led  one  to  suppose  that  Prussia 
was  entering  on  a  new  era  of  progress  and  of  liberty. 
Tha  day  had    been   fixed  for   the   ceremony  of  the 


246  THE   REVOLUTION    IN   PRUSSIA. 

homage  (Huldigung)  to  the  king,  a  performance 
which  in  Prussia  takes  the  place  of  a  coronation.  Thou- 
sands had  assembled  on  the  public  square  in  front  of 
the  palace,  in  order  to  see  and  hear  the  king,  who 
was  to  address  them  from  a  stage  erected  for  the 
purpose.  As  soon  as  he  appeared,  surrounded  by  his 
family  and  the  great  functionaries  of  the  state,  the 
air  was  filled  with  the  most  rapturous  applause.  After 
the  oath  of  allegiance  had  been  solemnly  tendered  by 
the  orders  assembled  around  the  monarch,  the  king 
rose  from  his  throne,  and  addressed  the  crowd  in  the 
following  apparently  extemporaneous  speech:  — 

•  In  this  solemn  moment  of  the  homage  of  my  German  subjects, 
I  appeal  to  God  that  he  may  fortify  by  his  all-powerful  sanction 
the  oath  which  has  just  been  pronounced,  and  that  which  you 
are  about  to  hear  I  swear  to  govern  in  the  fear  of  God  and  the 
love  of  mankind,  with  open  eyes  when  the  exigencies  of  my 
people  and  of  my  times  shall  demand  it,  but  with  closed  eyes 
whenever  justice  will  admit  of  it.  I  will,  so  far  as  in  my  power, 
maintain  peace,  and  with  all  my  strength  support  the  noble  en- 
deavors of  the  great  powers  who,  for  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
have  been  the  sentinels  of  the  peace  of  Europe.  I  will,  above  all, 
seek  to  maintain  our  country  in  that  position  to  which  Provi- 
dence, by  an  unexampled  scries  of  events,  has  raised  her  and 
made  her  the  bulwark  of  Germany's  safety  and  rights.  I  will  in 
all  things  strive  so  to  reign,  that  my  country  may  recognize  in 
me  the  true  son  of  a  father  and  mother  who  can  never  be  for- 
gotten, but  whose  memory  will  endure  as  a  blessing  for  ages  to 
come. 

•  But  the  ways  of  kings  arc  full  of  tears,  and  worthy  of  com- 
passion, when  the  hearts  and  the  spirit  of  their  people  do  not 
come  to  their  aid.  Therefore,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  my  love  for 
my  noble  country,  and  for  my  subjects  born  to  arms,  liberty,  and 
obedience,  I  address  to  you  one  question  in  this  all-important 
hour.     Answer  me,  if  you  can,  in  your  own  name,  and  in  the 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  247 

name  of  those  who  have  sent  you  here.  Nobles,  citizens,  and 
peasants,  and  all  of  you  who  can  hear  my  voice,  I  ask  you,  if,  in 
spirit  and  in  heart,  witli  word  and  with  deed,  with  the  sacred 
fidelity  of  Germans,  and  with  the  still  more  sacred  love  of  Chris- 
tians, you  will  aid  me  in  my  endeavors  to  maintain  Prussia  as  it 
is,  and  as  it  must  remain,  if  it  is  not  to  perish  for  ever  ?  Will 
you  aid  me  to  develop  those  qualities  by  which  Prussia,  with 
only  fourteen  millions  of  inhabitants,  has  placed  herself  on  a 
footing  with  the  great  powers  of  Europe,  — honor,  fidelity,  striv- 
ing after  knowledge,  right,  truth,  and  progress,  thus  combining 
at  once  the  wisdom  of  age  with  the  heroic  courage  of  youth  ? 
Will  you  stand  by  me  in  this  work,  during  days  of  prosperity 
and  adversity  ?  0,  then,  answer  me  with  that  pure  and  solemn 
sound  of  our  mother-tongue,  —  answer  me  with  the  word 
"Yes!"' 

At  this  point  of  the  king's  speech,  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  crowd  reached  the  utmost  pitch.  Every  voice 
gave  assent  to  his  demand. 

'  This  day,'  continued  he,  '  is  one  of  the  deepest  interest  to 
Prussia  and  to  the  woi'ld.  But  your  answer  was  for  me  ;  it  is 
my  property ;  I  shall  not  give  it  up.  It  binds  us  in  mutual  love 
and  fidelity.  It  gives  strength,  courage,  and  confidence.  I 
shall  never  forget  it,  not  even  at  my  dying  hour.  So  help  me 
God,  I  will  maintain  my  oath  of  this  day,  and  in  witness  thereof 
I  lift  my  right  hand  to  Heaven.  It  is  now  for  you  to  accom- 
plish the  festivities  of  the  day.  May  the  blessing  of  God  rest 
upon  this  hour  ! ' 

This  scene,  to  which  we  know  of  no  parallel  in 
recent  times,  must,  indeed,  have  been  one  of  deep  in- 
terest to  those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  witness  it. 
Nor  do  we  wonder  at  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  on 
this  occasion.  The  emotion  of  the  speaker,  the  deep 
tone  of  conviction  with  which  he  spoke,  the  originality 
of  his  address,  so  unlike  the  ordinary  addresses  of  sove- 


248  THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

reigns  to  their  subjects,  all  were  calculated  to  excite  in 
the  hearts  of  common  hearers  the  liveliest  hopes  of  a 
king  who  commenced  his  reign  under  such  favorable 
auspices.  But  the  reader  will  be  wholly  at  a  loss  to 
conceive  how  men  long  trained  in  the  difficult  art  of 
governing,  and  initiated  in  all  the  arcana  of  politics, 
should  have  founded  very  sanguine  hopes  on  so  slight 
a  basis.  He  will  ask  himself  how  such  men  could 
have  been  dazzled  by  this  singular  speech,  this  medley 
of  chivalrous  and  religious  sentimentality,  —  how  the 
vague  and  indefinite  language  of  the  king  could  have 
satisfied  them  even  for  a  moment.  And  if  we  call  to 
mind  another  speech  made  by  the  king  on  the  same 
day,  we  shall  still  less  be  able  to  comprehend  this  wide- 
spread enthusiasm  and  confidence.  In  this  speech,  he 
said :  — 

*  I  know  that  I  am  indebted  to  God  only  for  my  crown,  and 
that  I  have  a  right  to  say,  —  Let  him  who  touches  it  beware  ! 
But  I  know  also,  and  I  proclaim  it  in  presence  of  you  all,  that 
this  crown  is  a  sacred  deposit  intrusted  to  my  family  by  that  all- 
powerful  God.  I  know  that  to  Ilim  I  shall  have  to  render  an 
account,  day  by  day  and  hour  by  hour,  of  my  administration. 
If  any  one  amongst  you  demands  a  guaranty  from  his  king,  he 
can  receive  neither  from  me  nor  from  any  one  on  earth  any 
greater  safeguard.  Yes  !  these  words  bind  me  more  strongly 
than  any  words  engraved  on  bronze  or  inscribed  on  parchment ; 
for  they  come  from  a  heart  which  beats  for  you,  and  they  will 
take  root  in  the  convictions  of  your  souls! ' 

Now,  if  we  heard  such  speeches  as  these  uttered  on 
the  stage  by  some  feudal  prince  in  the  midst  of  his 
barons  and  vassals,  we  should  doubtless  think  them 
very  fine  ;  and  if  they  were  well  declaimed,  the  least 


THE    EEVOLTTTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  249 

entliusiastic  amongst  us  would  applaud.  But  in  real 
life,  in  the  bustle  and  turmoil  of  political  contests,  we 
want  something  more  substantial  than  such  indefinite 
phrases  as  these.  Without  distrusting  the  royal  word, 
it  could  hardly  be  expected  that  the  Prussians  would 
long  content  themselves  with  such  vague  promises. 
We  go  farther  still.  Even  had  the  king,  in  conformity 
with  the  expectations  raised  by  his  high-sounding  lan- 
guage, granted  his  subjects  the  most  liberal  institutions, 
we  question  whether  they  would  have  been  long  con- 
tented with  a  liberty  resting  on  so  doubtful  a  basis  as 
this.  They  would  soon  have  claimed  as  a  right  what 
they  only  enjoyed  as  a  boon.  Faith  in  the  divine  right 
of  kings,  and  in  all  the  erroneous  maxims  of  govern- 
ment which  result  from  that  absurd  principle,  has  now 
almost  entirely  died  out.  The  rights  of  nations  must 
rest  on  more  solid  ground  than  on  the  word  of  their 
rulers.  The  precept  of  the  Civil  Law,  Quod  placuit 
principi  legis  vigorem  hahet,  is  an  exploded  principle. 
Rights  which  are  founded  only  on  the  v/ill  of  one  man 
are  felt  to  be  unstable  and  insecure  ;  for  who  can  say, 
that  the  power  which  to-day  condescends  to  grant  lib- 
erty to  a  people,  will  not  think  fit  to  deprive  them  of  it 
to-morrow  ?  And  if  one  could  answer  for  the  sovereign 
who  granted  this  liberty,  who  would  be  responsible  for 
his  successor  ? 

But  enough  of  this.  However  strange  it  may  seem 
to  us  that  the  king's  speeches  should  have  given  rise  to 
such  bright  hopes,  it  is  certain  that  this  was  the  case, 
and  that  the  most  entire  confidence  pervaded  all  classes 
of  society.  The  first  acts  of  the  new  reign  served  to 
confirm  this  favorable  impression.     All  the  measures 


250  THE    REVOLTTTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

of  the  government  seemed  to  have  a  liberal  tendency. 
The  king  called  to  the  capital  all  the  literary  and  scien- 
tific men  and  artists  he  could  prevail  upon  to  leave 
their  homes,  and  take  up  their  residence  in  a  more 
brilliant,  but,  as  they  soon  found,  less  independent 
sphere.  No  regard  was  paid  to  political  opinions  in 
the  invitations  addressed  by  the  king  to  such  persons, 
and  Berlin  soon  became  the  resort  of  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  in  Germany.  The  brothers  Grimm, 
who  had  been  expelled  from  the  University  of  Gottin- 
gen  by  the  King  of  Hanover,  Tieck,  Riickert,  Her- 
wegh,  Freiligrath,  Cornelius,  and  others,  were  at  one 
time  assembled  in  the  Prussian  capital,  which  seemed 
destined  to  become  a  second  Weimar. 

Frederic  William  has  been  accused  by  his  enemies 
of  calling  around  him  these  distinguished  men,  with  a 
view  of  intoxicating  them  with  the  pernicious  poison  of 
royal  favor,  and  of  thus  binding  them  by  ties  of  grati- 
tude and  attachment  to  his  person.  We  do  not  believe 
that  such  was  his  intention.  His  motives  were  purer. 
He  had  not  calculated  on  the  ardent  and  patriotic  re- 
sistance of  some  of  the  poets  whom  he  had  imprudently 
called  around  him.  It  was  his  hope  that  he  might  shed 
a  new  lustre  on  Prussia,  by  placing  her  at  the  head  of 
civilization  in  Germany ;  and  perhaps,  also,  that  he 
might  turn  towards  matters  purely  literary  and  scientific 
the  intellectual  activity  which  was  so  rapidly  spreading 
through  his  dominions.  He  did  not  understand  that 
high  intellectual  culture  cannot  long  exist  in  a  nation 
without  a  corresponding  development  of  their  civil  and 
political  liberties.  How,  indeed,  can  a  distinct  line  of 
demarcation  be  drawn  between  what  is  purely  intellec- 


THE    KEVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  251 

tual  and  what  belongs  to  more  active  life  ?  How  can 
you  tolerate  perfect  freedom  of  discussion  on  religious, 
philosophical,  scientific,  and  literary  subjects,  and  yet 
prohibit  any  allusion  to  the  living  interests  of  the  time? 
The  king's  eyes  were  soon  opened ;  he  found  that  he 
had  gone  too  far,  and  that  he  must  either  cause  his 
liberal  course  with  regard  to  the  distinguished  men  of 
the  day  to  be  followed  up  by  an  equally  liberal  conduct 
in  politics,  or  must  put  a  check  on  the  feelings  which 
he  had  himself  encouraged.  Unfortunately,  ne  prefer- 
red the  latter  course.  Freiligrath,  who  was  in  receipt 
of  a  pension  from  the  government,  was  soon  obliged  to 
leave  Berlin ;  and  some  of  his  poems,  among  others, 
one  entitled  '  Freiheit  und  Recht,''  and  a  translation  of 
Burns's  song,  '  A  man 's  a  man  for  a'  that,'  were  pro- 
hibited by  the  censorship,  as  *  addressing  themselves 
to  false  ideas  of  freedom,  or  exciting  the  hostile  oppo- 
sition of  the  different  classes  of  society.'  Herwegh,  on 
a  visit  to  Berlin,  tvas  received  by  the  king,  who  con- 
versed with  him  in  the  most  friendly  manner,  but 
ended  by  saying  to  him,  — '  Mr.  Herwegh,  you  are  the 
second  of  my  enemies  who  has  been  to  see  me.  The 
first  was  M.  Thiers.  But  your  eyes  will  be  opened  one 
day,  like  those  of  Paul  on  the  road  to  Damascus.'  The 
next  day,  Herwegh  received  an  order  to  leave  the 
city. 

Thus  gradually  were  the  hopes  formed  at  the  king's 
accession  to  the  throne  blighted.  Year  after  year 
passed  by,  without  any  thing  being  done  to  develope 
the  political  institutions  of  the  country.  It  had  been 
confidently  expected,  that  Frederic  William  would 
grant   a   constitution  founded   on  the   principles   laid 


252  THE   REVOLTITION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

down  by  bis  predecessor  in  the  decree  wbich  we  have 
quoted.  To  use  the  somewhat  figurative  language  of  a 
German  writer,  he  was,  like  Solomon,  to  build  the 
temple,  a  work  on  which  his  royal  father  had  consid- 
ered himself  unworthy  to  lay  hands.  Six  months  after 
his  accession  to  the  throne  (February,  1S41),  an  edict 
rather  pompously  drawn  up  was  issued,  granting  a 
slight  development  to  the  constitution  of  the  provincial 
diets,  but  one  which  was  far,  very  far,  from  answering 
the  wishes  of  the  nation.  It  gave  rise  to  somewhat 
stormy  debates  in  several  of  the  provinces,  and  was 
every  where  severely  criticised.  The  Assemblies  of 
the  provinces  of  Posen  and  Prussia  Proper  sent  petitions 
to  Berlin,  setting  forth  their  grievances,  and  reminding 
the  king  of  his  father's  promises.  The  king's  reply 
was  haughty.  The  precipitation  with  which  the  decree 
had  been  judged  was  not,  he  said,  the  best  way  of  ex- 
ercising a  happy  influence  on  the  kindly  feelings  which 
dictated  it.  He  stated,  moreover,  that  the  promises  of 
his  father  could  not  be  considered  as  binding,  as  they 
had  been  de  facto  abolished  by  the  decree  of  June  5th, 
1823,  constituting  the  Provincial  Assemblies.  In  the 
course  of  the  following  year,  a  little  further  extension 
was  given  to  the  power  of  these  Assemblies,  and  com- 
mittees were  formed,  which  met  at  Berlin. 

We  have  not  space  enough  to  follow  closely  the  his- 
tory of  the  following  years,  in  which  rumors  were  con- 
stantly afloat  of  the  promulgation  of  a  constitution.  It 
is  sufl[icient  to  say,  that  nothing  was  really  done  until 
the  year  1847,  when,  in  the  month  of  February,  an 
edict  was  unexpectedly  issued,  providing  that  a  United 
Diet  should  be  assembled  in  Berlin  so  often  as  the 


THE    REVOLUTION   IN   PRUSSIA.  253 

wants  of  the  state,  new  loans,  the  introduction  of  new 
taxes,  or  the  increase  of  those  already  existing,  should 
require. 

This  Diet,  formed  of  the  members  of  the  eight  Pro- 
vincial Diets,*  besides  the  princes  of  the  royal  family, 
met  for  the  first  time  at  Berlin  on  the  11th  of  April, 
1847.  The  king  opened  it  in  person,  and  in  a  long 
address  set  forth  his  views  as  to  the  form  of  govern- 
ment suited  to  Prussia.  In  the  manner  of  this  address 
there  is  something  not  unlike  the  complacency  with 
which  an  artist  or  an  author  points  out  to  you  the  fine 
parts  of  what  he  considers  as  his  masterpiece.  He 
laid  great  stress  on  his  divine  right  and  absolute  power, 
but  at  the  same  time  called  upon  his  hearers  to  express 
their  gratitude  for  the  voluntary  concessions  he  had 
made  to  the  nation,  and  to  admire  the  beautiful  political 
structure  he  had  raised.  It  was  evident  that  Frederic 
William  thought  he  had  done  a  great  work.  The  con- 
stitution on  which  he  had  been,  if  we  may  believe  his 
own  words,  seven  years  at  work,  was  promulgated,  and 
was  now  for  the  first  time  put  into  operation.     On  the 

*  It  may  not  be  amiss  to  state,  that  the  kingdom  of  Prussia  is 
divided  into  eight  provinces,  viz.  :  — Brandenburg,  Pomerania, 
Saxony,  Silesia,  Prussia  Proper,  Posen,  Westphalia,  and  the 
Rhenish  Provinces.  Each  of  these  provinces  is  administered  by 
a  High  President  {Ober  PrUsident),  who  may  be  considered  as 
a  royal  commissary.  By  the  law  of  June  5th,  1823,  alluded  to 
above,  each  of  these  provinces  has  the  right  to  assemble  a  Diet. 
To  have  a  seat  in  these  Diets,  it  is  necessary  to  have  inherited, 
or  acquired  by  other  means,  landed  property,  and  to  have  held 
the  same  for  ten  consecutive  years,  to  be  at  least  thirty  years 
old,  to  profess  the  Christian  religion,  and  to  be  of  good  moral 
character. 


254  THE   REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

opening  of  the  Diet  he  had  staked  all  his  hopes  of 
future  fame,  as  the  dramatic  writer  places  all  his  on 
the  first  performance  of  a  new  play.  It  proved  a  fail- 
ure. How,  indeed,  could  this  miserable  pasticcio  of 
the  Middle  Ages  succeed  in  the  midst  of  the  nineteenth 
century  ?  Not  even  those  who  had  been  seduced  in 
1840  by  the  king's  language  could  again  be  carried 
away  by  passages  like  the  following  :  — 

'  As  the  heir  of  an  unweakened  crown,  which  I  must  and  will 
hand  down  unweakened  to  my  successor,  I  know  that  I  am  per- 
fectly free  from  all  and  every  pledge  with  respect  to  that  which 
has  not  been  carried  out,  and,  above  all,  with  respect  to  that 
from  the  execution  of  which  his  own  true  paternal  conscience 
preserved  my  illustrious  predecessor.' 

And  again :  — 

'  I  have  reserved  the  right  of  calling  together  these  great 
assemblies  on  extraordinary  occasions,  when  I  deem  it  good  and 
expedient;  and  I  will  do  this  willingly  at  more  frequent  inter- 
vals, if  this  Diet  gives  me  the  proof  that  I  can  do  so  without 
prejudice  to  higher  sovereign  duties.' 

He  expressed  in  strong  terms  his  unwillingness  to 
grant  a  written  constitution  to  the  people. 

•  I  know,'  he  said,  '  that  with  the  rights  intrusted  to  you,  I 
grant  you  a  costly  jewel  of  freedom,  and  that  you  will  employ  it 
faithfully.  But  I  know,  also,  that  many  will  uespise  tliis  jewel; 
that  to  many  it  is  not  sufficient.  Many,  and  among  them  very 
worthy  men,  look  for  our  safety  in  the  perversion  of  the  natural 
relation  between  prince  and  people  into  a  conventional  existence, 
granted  by  charter  and  ratified  by  oaths.  But  the  example  of 
one  happy  country,  whose  constitution  was  not  made  on  sheets  of 
paper,  but  by  the  lapse  of  centuries  and  by  an  hereditary  wisdom 
without  a  parallel,  should  not  be  lost  upon  us.  If  other  coun- 
tries find  their  happiness  in  manufactured  and  granted  constitu- 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  255 

tions,  we  may  admire  them  ;  but  Prussia  could  not  bear  such  a 
I  state  of  things.  Do  you  asli  why  ?  I  answer,  Cast  your  eyes  pu 
the  map  of  Europe ;  loolt  at  the  position  of  our  country,  —  at  its 
component  parts ;  follow  the  line  of  its  borders ;  weigh  the  power 
of  our  neighbors;  above  all,  throw  an  enlightened  glance  on  our 
history.  It  has  pleased  God  to  make  Prussia  strong  by  the 
sword  of  war  from  without,  and  by  the  sword  of  the  intellect 
from  within.  As  in  the  camp,  unless  in  cases  of  the  most  urgent 
danger,  the  command  must  be  exercised  only  by  one  person,  so 
can  the  destinies  of  our  country,  unless  it  is  to  fall  immediately 
from  its  elevation,  be  guided  by  only  one  will;  and  if  the  king 
of  Prussia  would  commit  an  abomination,  if  he  were  to  demand 
from  his  subjects  the  submission  of  slaves,  he  would  commit  a 
far  greater  one,  were  he  not  to  demand  of  them  the  crowning 
virtue  of  freemen,  —  I  mean  obedience  for  the  sake  of  God  and 
conscience.' 

In  another  passage,  he  thus  strangely  defines  the 
rights  of  the  members  of  the  Diet :  — 

'Noblemen  and  trusty  delegates,  the  late  king,  after  mature 
reflection,  called  the  Diets  into  existence,  according  to  the  Ger- 
man and  historical  idea  of  them.  In  this  idea  alone  have  I  con- 
tinued his  work.  Impress  yourselves,  I  entreat  you,  with  the 
spirit  of  this  definition.  You  are  a  German  Diet  in  the  anciently 
received  sense  of  the  word;  that  is,  you  ai-e  representatives  and 
defenders  of  your  own  rights 

'  It  is  not  your  province  to  represent  opinions,  or  to  bring  the 
opinions  of  this  or  that  school  into  practical  operation.  That  is 
wholly  uii-German,  and,  moreover,  completely  useless  for  the 
good  of  the  community ;  for  it  would  necessarily  lead  to  inextri- 
cable difiiculties  witli  the  crown,  which  must  govern  according 
to  the  laws  of  the  land  and  its  own  free,  unbiased  resolution,  and 
which  cannot  —  does  not  —  govern  according  to  the  will  of  the 
majority,  if  it  would  not  cause  Prussia  to  become  an  empty 
sound  in  Europe.' 

The  speech  closes  with  a  still  more  explicit  declara- 


256  THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

tion  of  the  king's  intention  not  to  give  into  the  hands  of 
the  members  of  the  Diet  any  of  the  powers  with  which 
he  himself  was  invested.  If  any  doubts  had  existed 
on  the  subject,  the  following  words  must  have  dispelled 
them  :  — 

•  I  have  appeai-ed  amongst  you,  and  addressed  you  with  royal 
freedom.  With  the  same  openness,  and  as  a  proof  of  my  confi- 
dence in  you,  I  here  give  you  my  royal  word,  that  I  should  not 
have  called  you  together,  had  I  had  the  smallest  suspicion  that  you 
would  have  any  desire  to  play  the  part  of  what  are  called  "  rep- 
resentatives of  the  people;"  because,  according  to  my  deepest 
and  most  heartfelt  conviction,  the  throne  and  state  would  be  en- 
dangered by  it,  and  because  I  recognize  it  as  my  first  duty,  under 
all  circumstances  and  events,  to  preserve  the  throne,  the  state, 
and  my  government  as  they  at  present  exist.' 

We  have  quoted  thus  largely  from  the  royal  speech, 
in  order  to  show  the  true  character  of  the  institutions 
granted  to  Prussia,  and  how  little  they  were  were  cal- 
culated to  satisfy  the  legitimate  demands  of  the  people. 
For  what  was  this  Diet  heralded  into  existence  with 
such  pomp  and  ostentation  ?  What  was  it  more  than  a 
show,  in  which  the  actors,  if  docile  and  obedient  to  the 
voice  of  their  manager,  were  to  be  recompensed  by 
being  more  frequently  assembled  to  perform  their 
parts  ;  but,  if  disobedient,  were  liable  to  the  royal 
displeasure  ?  How  is  it  possible  that  the  king  or  his 
advisers  should  not  have  foreseen,  that  to  grant  this 
unreal  mockery  to  the  nation  was  far  more  dangerous 
than  not  to  grant  any  thing  ?  How  could  they  have 
failed  to  understand,  that,  in  seven  years  of  trustful 
expectation  and  constant  disappointment,  the  nation 
had  learned  how  much  reliance  it  could  place  on  the 


THE   REVOLUTION    IN   PRUSSIA.  257 

fine  speeches  of  its  sovereign,  and  had  found  out  the 
necessity  of  taking  the  matter  into  its  own  hands,  if  it 
ever  expected  to  obtain  any  share  in  the  management 
of  public  affairs  ?  This  was,  indeed,  what  happened. 
The  members  of  the  Diet  took  as  a  reality  what  had 
been  given  to  them  as  a  sport.  Like  that  heathen 
actor,  who,  on  playing  the  part  of  a  Christian  martyr, 
was  so  carried  away  by  the  sentiments  to  which  he  was 
giving  utterance,  as  to  have  been  really  converted,  they 
kindled  into  enthusiasm  by  the  mere  acting  of  the  par- 
liamentary play  which  had  been  intrusted  to  them,  and 
changed  it  into  something  real  and  substantial. 

An  address  was  voted  in  reply  to  the  king's  speech, 
which,  although  considerably  modified  from  the  one 
originally  proposed,  was  firm  and  decided  in  its  tone. 
The  Diet  thanked  him  in  respectful  language  for  what 
had  been  granted,  but  expressed  the  desire  that  more 
might  be  done.  To  this  address  the  king  replied,  that 
what  had  been  done  was  not  to  be  considered  as  final, 
but  rather  as  capable  of  further  development  (nicht  als 
abgeschlossen,  vielmehr  als  bildungsfdhig.)  The  Diet 
continued  in  session  until  the  26th  of  June,  when  it  was 
closed  amidst  considerable  agitation,  caused  by  the 
bold  attitude  of  some  of  the  members,  who  had  not 
accepted  the  royal  definition  of  their  ofiice,  but  consid- 
ered themselves  as  the  representatives  of  the  nation, 
whose  sacred  duty  it  was  to  struggle  for  its  rights. 
This  first  session  of  the  United  Diet  was  but  a  trial  of 
strength,  in  which  the  members  had  acquired  the  con- 
viction that  they  were  not  mere  tools  in  the  hands  of  the 
king, —  a  conviction  which  could  not  but  prove  fatal  to 
the  king's  dreams  of  absolute  sway.  No  one,  however, 
17 


258  THE   REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

could  have  foreseen  that  they  would  not  again  assemble 
until  a  bloody  revolution  had  broken  down  the  despotic 
government  of  Prussia. 

The  remainder  of  the  year  1847  passed  away 
quietly  for  Prussia.  But  leist  spring,  the  country  was 
awakened  from  its  apparent  tranquillity  by  the  unex- 
pected news  of  the  downfall  of  Louis  Philippe,  and  the 
proclamation  —  some  call  it  the  establishment  —  of  a  re- 
public in  France.  This  news  seems  to  have  produced, 
from  the  first,  the  liveliest  impression  in  Prussia,  as 
well  QS  throughout  Germany ;  and  the  king  deemed  it 
advisable,  in  closing,  on  the  6th  of  March,  the  session 
of  the  committee  of  the  Provincial  Diets,  which  had  met 
to  revise  the  penal  code  of  the  kingdom,  to  announce 
that  in  future  the  United  Diet  —  the  convocation  of 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  depended  entirely  upon  the 
royal  pleasure  —  should  be  assembled  regularly  every 
four  years.  Greater  concessions  would  have  been 
necessary  to  calm  the  excitement  which  then  prevailed 
throughout  the  country.  The  members  of  the  com- 
mittee were  dissatisfied. 

On  the  evening  of  the  8th,  the  students  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Berlin  met  in  the  Thier  Garten,  a  park  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  capital,  for  the  purpose 
of  drawing  up  an  address  to  the  king,  demanding  the 
further  development  of  the  rights  of  the  people.  In 
the  midst  of  their  debate,  the  president  of  the  police 
made  his  appearance,  and  after  having  made  himself 
known  to  the  principal  leaders  of  the  meeting,  in- 
formed them  that  he  had  no  intention  of  preventing 
their  proceedings,  and  if  they  would  vote  a  loyal 
address  to  his  Majesty,  that  he  would  pledge  his  honor 


THE    REVOLUnOiN    IN    PRUSSIA.  259 

to  remit  the  same  to  the  king  in  the  course  of  a  few 
hours ;  but  as  the  king  had  positively  determined  not  to 
receive  any  deputation,  he  advised  them  to  renounce 
their  plan  of  sending  him  one.  The  students,  how- 
ever, who  did  not  wish  to  be  thus  cheated  out  of  the 
public  demonstration  they  had  designed  making,  broke 
up  the  meeting,  and  convoked  a  larger  assembly  for 
the  following  day.  At  this  meeting,  which  was  at- 
tended not  only  by  the  students,  but  by  a  large  num- 
ber of  citizens,  an  address  was  adopted,  demanding 
from  the  king  entire  liberty  of  the  press  and  of  speech, 
an  amnesty  for  all  political  offences,  equal  political 
rights,  trial  by  jury,  the  reduction  of  the  standing  army, 
and  the  immediate  convocation  of  the  United  Diet.  It 
was  not  until  after  a  long  debate,  that  the  assembly 
could  decide  upon  the  proper  way  of  transmitting  this 
address  to  the  king.  It  was  finally  decided,  however, 
that  it  should  be  handed  to  the  delegates  of  the  city, 
then  in  session,  for  them  to  present  it  to  his  Majesty; 
and  in  case  they  should  refuse  to  do  so,  an  audience 
should  be  demanded  for  a  deputation,  which  might 
carry  him  the  address. 

The  next  day,  (March  llth,)  the  delegates  them- 
selves voted  an  address  to  the  government,  in  which 
they  made  very  nearly  the  same  demands,  and,  more- 
over, requested  that  a  German  Parliament  might  be 
convocated,  as  the  only  means  of  securing  to  Ger- 
many that  independence  without  which  she  would  be 
unable  to  hold  her  position  and  to  assert  her  rights  in 
the  difiicult  crisis  in  which  Europe  had  been  involved 
by  the  recent  events  in  France.  They,  however, 
declined  taking  charge  of  the   popular  address,   and 


260  THE   EEVOLUTION  tN   PRUSSIA. 

resolved  to  send  their  president  to  the  king  with  the 
address  which  they  had  themselves  adopted.  The 
king  received  him  graciously,  and  replied,  that  it  gave 
him  the  greatest  satisfaction  to  find  that  the  faithful 
citizens  of  Berlin  were  the  first  to  lay  before  him  their 
grievances  and  their  desires.  He  added,  that  he  was 
fully  alive  to  a  sense  of  the  importance  of  the  crisis; 
that  he  had  therefore  determined  to  convoke  the  United 
Diet,  that  an  edict  to  that  efiect  was  to  be  issued  on 
the  following  day,  and  that  to  that  body  he  would  con- 
fide the  future  destinies  of  Prussia.  He  laid  particular 
stress  on  the  necessity  of  circumspection.  Courage 
and  prudence,  he  said,  was  the  motto  of  every  good 
general.  A  house  cannot  be  erected  in  a  day,  and  if 
it  is  to  last,  it  must  have  a  solid  foundation.  The 
result  of  this  interview  was  the  convocation  of  the 
Diet  for  the  20th  of  April. 

Meanwhile,  serious  disturbances  had  broken  out  in 
the  city.  As  early  as  the  13th,  the  people  had  assem- 
bled in  front  of  the  palace,  amidst  shouts  for  liberty 
and  freedom  of  the  press,  and  skirmishes  had  taken 
place  between  the  troops  and  the  citizens.  The  proc- 
lamation issued  on  the  following  day,  reminding  the 
people  of  the  existing  laws  against  riots,  and  enjoining 
on  all  manufacturers  and  shopkeepers  to  prevent  their 
workmen  from  mingling  in  these  tumultuous  assem- 
blies, and  on  all  keepers  of  hotels  or  other  public 
places  to  prohibit  —  under  the  penalty  of  forfeiting  their 
license  to  keep  such  places  —  all  political  discussion 
within  their  establishments,  failed  to  produce  the  de- 
sired eflfect.  On  the  evening  of  the  14th,  an  immense 
multitude  assembled  on  the  great  square.     Their  atti- 


THE   REVOLUTION   IN    PRUSSIA.  261 

tude  was  calm,  and  possibly  no  disturbances  would 
have  ensued,  had  not  a  body  of  cavalry  thrown  itself 
into  the  midst  of  the  crowd.  A  large  number  of  per- 
sons were  wounded  in  this  affair. 

The  following  day,  a  petition  was  sent  from  the 
citizens  to  the  city  delegates,  demanding  that  the 
troops  should  be  ordered  not  to  take  any  further  part 
in  the  disturbances,  and  that  the  guard  of'  the  city 
should  be  confided  to  the  citizens  themselves.  This 
petition  was  forwarded  to  the  government,  who  declared 
that  a  committee  should  be  named  to  take  cognizance 
of  the  events  of  the  preceding  day,  and  to  provide  such 
measures  as  should  be  deemed  necessary  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  order.  This  assurance  seemed  for  a  short 
time  to  calm  the  agitation  which  pervaded  the  city ;  but 
when  the  news  of  the  Revolution  at  Vienna  reached 
Berlin,  the  effect  of  the  startling  intelligence  on  the 
excited  multitude  may  readily  be  imagined.  Crowds 
were  again  assembled  in  the  streets  and  around  the 
palace.  An  armed  force  was  once  more  called  out, 
and  a  bloody  conflict  was  the  result.  Barricades  were 
formed  with  astonishing  rapidity,  and  the  struggle  con- 
tinued until  a  late  hour  in  the  night,  when  the  mob 
were  finally  completely  driven  back  from  their  barri- 
cades. 

This  defeat  did  not  allay  the  excitement,  for  on  the 
following  day  the  streets  were  again  thronged  with 
people.  They  seemed  even  to  have  gained  courage  by 
their  first  attempt  at  revolution,  unsuccessful  though  it 
had  been ;  for  many  appeared  with  the  German  tri- 
colored  ribbon  (red,  black,  and  gold)  in  their  button- 
holes  or    on    their   hats,   and  smoking,  —  a  privilege 


262  THE   REVOLUTION    IN   PBUSSIA. 

which  had  not  been  enjoyed  for  many  a  year  in  the 
streets  of  Berlin.  The  space  in  front  of  the  palace  of 
the  Prince  of  Prussia,  the  king's  brother,  and  well 
known  for  his  absolutist  principles,  seemed  to  be  the 
rendezvous  of  the  crowd ;  and  it  was  feared  that  they 
entertained  some  sinister  design  on  the  palace.  The 
day  passed,  however,  without  any  serious  disturbances. 
On  the  morning  of  the  18th,  a  day  which  will  be 
long  remembered  in  the  annals  of  Prussian  history,  a 
large  number  of  citizens  resolved  to  present  a  petition 
to  the  king,  assuring  him  of  their  loyal  attachment,  and 
demanding  the  dismissal  of  the  troops  from  the  city, 
the  immediate  organization  of  an  armed  burgher-guard, 
liberty  of  the  press,  and  the  speedy  convocation  of  the 
Diet.  But  before  they  had  time  to  present  this  petition 
to  the  king,  a  royal  edict  was  promulgated,  granting 
liberty  of  the  press,  and  convoking  the  Diet  for  the 
2d  of  April.  The  citizens,  full  of  joy  at  what  they 
deemed  the  happy  termination  of  the  disturbances, 
crowded  before  the  palace  to  express  their  gratitude  to 
the  king.  Twice  the  king  appeared  on  the  balcony, 
and  was  hailed  by  the  enthusiastic  shouts  of  the  multi- 
tude. After  he  had  retired,  one  of  the  ministers  came 
forward,  and  requested  the  mob  to  return  quietly  to 
their  homes.  This  demand  was  received  with  mur- 
murs by  the  crowd,  and  in  their  turn  they  demanded 
that  the  soldiers,  who  were  stationed  under  the  palace 
windows,  should  be  dismissed.  As  this  desire  was  not 
complied  with,  they  pressed  forward,  menacing  the  sol- 
diers and  brandishing  their  sticks.  At  this  moment  a 
couple  of  shots  were  fired,  and  a  scene  of  the  utmost 
confusion   and   tumult  ensued.     The   people,  amidst 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  263 

cries  of  Treason !  Treason !  ran  in  every  direction,  to 
raise  barricades  against  the  troops,  who  were  advanc- 
ing on  all  sides.  The  conflict  was  long  and  bloody. 
For  thirteen  hours,  the  people  fought  against  an  armed 
force  of  not  less  than  twenty  thousand  men.  At  last, 
towards  morning,  the  combat  ceased,  and  the  king, 
finding  all  resistance  useless,  issued  a  proclamation  to 
his  beloved  Berliners,  which,  after  endeavoring  to  ex- 
plain the  sad  events  of  the  preceding  day  by  attribut- 
ing them  to  a  set  of  lawless  individuals  in  the  crowd, 
who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  accidental  shots  fired 
by  the  troops  to  raise  the  standard  of  revolt,  ends  with 
the  following  words:  — 

'  Return  to  peace  and  tranquillity,  break  down  the  barricades 
■which  still  remain,  and  then  send  me  men  animated  with  the  old 
Berlin  spirit,  with  words  such  as  are  becoming  in  presence  of 
your  king,  and  I  promise  you  that  the  troops  shall  immediately 
evacuate  the  streets  and  the  public  places.  Hear  the  paternal 
Toice  of  your  king,  inhabitants  of  my  beautiful  and  faithful  city 
of  Berlin.  Forget  what  has  passed,  as  I  desire  to  forget  it  my- 
self, in  the  interest  of  the  great  destinies  which,  with  the  blessing 
of  God,  await  Germany  and  Prussia.  Your  gracious  queen, 
stretched  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  your  true  and  faithful  mother  and 
friend,  joins  her  tearful  prayers  to  mine.' 

Had  this  proclamation  been  issued  on  the  preceding 
day,  much  bloodshed  might  have  been  prevented.  As 
it  was,  the  people  had  suffered  too  much  to  be  willing 
to  make  the  first  concessions  ;  the  struggle  was  re- 
newed. Finally,  at  about  twelve  o'clock  on  the  19th, 
the  king  at  last  determined  to  issue  the  order  for  the 
troops  to  return  to  their  barracks.  Tranquillity  was 
thus  restored  to  the  capital.  The  people  were  trium- 
phant, and  they  carried  in  solemn  procession  the  bodies 


264  THE   KEVOLUTION   IN    PRUSSIA. 

of  the  slain  to  the  palace,  where  the  king  was  obliged 
to  come  forward  himself,  and  contemplate  the  victims 
of  his  blind  obstinacy.  The  guard  of  the  city  was 
confided  to  the  citizens  themselves,  a  political  amnesty 
was  granted,  the  unpopular  ministry  were  dismissed, — 
in  a  word,  all  ihe  wishes  of  the  people  were  granted. 

Of  the  real  cause  of  the  sad  events  of  the  18th  there 
seems  as  yet  to  be  no  satisfactory  account.  Some  say 
that  a  shot  was  fired  by  accident,  and  caused  the  alarm 
amongst  the  crowd  ;  others,  that  the  troops  fired  only 
after  they  were  attacked  by  the  mob.  The  friends  of 
the  king  maintain,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  govern- 
ment had  been  informed  of  the  designs  of  the  Repub- 
lican party  to  overthrow  the  existing  order  of  things  in 
Prussia,  and  to  follow  the  then  seductive  example  of 
France,  and  that,  when  the  crowd  rushed  forward 
towards  the  palace,  it  wv^  thought  that  the  intended  at- 
tempt had  commenced,  and  that  the  troops  alone  could 
save  the  state.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  people  had 
attained  their  object,  and  despotism  was  crushed  in 
Prussia.  Few  excesses  were  committed  during  this 
eventful  struggle.  The  attempt  to  tear  down  the 
palace  of  the  Prince  of  Prussia  —  who  was  supposed  to 
have  given  the  troops  the  order  to  fire  on  the  people  — 
was  fortunately  checked  by  a  workman,  who  rushed 
forward  and  wrote  on  the  walls  the  magic  words, — 
'National  Property.' 

A  few  days  after  these  memorable  events,  the  king 
issued  a  proclamation  (May  22d)  to  his  people  and  to 
the  German  nation  at  large,  in  which  he  declared,  that, 
in  the  difficult  crisis  in  which  Germany  was  then 
placed,  her  only  safety  was  in  her  union  under  one 


THE    REVOLUTION    IN   PRUSSIA.  265 

chief.  '  I  will,'  says  the  proclamation,  '  undertake  this 
direction  in  the  day  of  danger.*  I  have  now  adopted 
the  ancient  colors  of  Germany,  and  placed  myself  and 
my  people  under  the  banner  of  the  German  empire. 
Prussia  shall  henceforth  be  merged  in  Germany.' t 
This  declaration,  hailed  with  enthusiasm  at  Berlin,  was 
not  received  with  like  favor  in  other  parts  of  Germany. 
It  was  thought  that  the  king  intended  to  usurp  the  im- 
perial crown.  Many  persons,  even  in  Berlin,  seemed 
to  have  viewed  the  matter  in  the  same  light;  for  when, 
on  the  morning  of  the  23d,  the  king  rode  in  solemn 
procession  through  the  streets  of  the  capital,  he  was 
received  with  shouts  of  '  Long  live  the  German  empe- 
ror.' '  No,'  replied  the  king  with  vivacity,  '  I  bear 
colors  which  are  not  mine  ;  I  do  not  wish  to  usurp  any 
thing  ;  I  wish  for  no  crown,  no  dominion.  I  wish  for 
the  freedom  and  unity  of  Gerrpany  ;  I  wish  for  order. 
I  have  done  only  what  has  more  than  once  been  done 
in  German  history,  in  a  moment  of  great  danger  to  the 
country  ;  I  have  placed  myself  at  the  head  of  the 
whole  nation  ;  and  I  am  confident  that  the  princes  of 
Germany  will  sympathize  with  me,  and  her  people 
support  me.' 

Among  the  many  strange  events  which  have  occur- 
red in  Europe  within  the  past  year,  we  know  of  none 
more  strange  than  this  singular  declaration  of  Frederic 
William.  We  do  not  agree  with  those  who  think  that 
a  man  must  necessarily  profess  the  same  opinions 
throughout  life  ;  on  the  contrary,  we  think  it  but  nat- 

*  Fur  die  Tage  der  Gefahr. 

t  Freussen  geht  fortan  in  Deutschland  auf. 


266  THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

ural  that  circumstances,  and,  above  all,  experience, 
should  modify  —  nay,  even  entirely  change  —  the 
political  opinions  of  a  man.     We  admire  the 

*  Justum  ac  tenocem  propositi  virum,'  t 

who  retains  through  a  long  and  active  public  life  the 
same  opinions ;  but  we  can  understand  that  this  should 
not  always  be  the  case;  and,  indeed,  we  see  no  good 
reason  why  he  who  was  a  radical  at  twenty  should  not 
be  a  conservative  at  forty.  But  we  confess  that  we 
cannot  but  distrust  the  very  sudden  conversion  of  the 
king  of  Prussia,  who,  in  a  few  days,  passes  from  one 
extremity  to  the  other  of  the  scale  of  political  opinions. 
Yesterday  he  was  blindly  attached  to  all  the  forms  of 
the  past,  and  to-day  he  is  the  enthusiastic  admirer  of 
free  institutions.  Yesterday  he  was  the  defender  of  the 
divine  right  of  kings,  and  of  royal  power  to  be  limited 
only  by  the  free  grants  of  the  sovereign  himself,  —  and 
to-day  he  not  only  wishes  all  nations  to  be  free,  but  is 
desirous  of  placing  himself  at  the  head  of  the  liberal 
movement  in  Germany.  This  savors  more  of  policy 
and  ambition  than  of  deep  conviction. 

His  conduct  was  thus  viewed  in  some  parts  of  Ger- 
many, particularly  in  the  south  and  west,  where  were 
again  manifested  those  feelings  of  jealousy  and  rivalry 
which  have  ever  proved  so  fatal  to  the  establishment  of 
political  unity  throughout  Germany.  In  the  Wiener 
Zeilung  appeared,  shortly  afterwards,  a  reply  to  the 
king's  declaration,  in  the  name  of  the  German  nation, 
in  which  it  was  stated,  in  the  boldest  language,  that  they 
could  not  accept  the  position  which  the  king  offered 
to  take. 


THE    KEVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  267 

'  Your  Majesty,'  says  this  striking  document,  *  is  the  only 
German  prince  who  granted  the  inalienable  rights  of  his  people 
only  in  the  midst  of  barricades,  and  on  the  dead  bodies  of  the 
best  of  his  subjects,  and  vrhen  his  throne  began  to  totter.  The 
German  people  have  learnt  to  appreciate  you,  and  have  not  con- 
fidence in  you.  It  is  with  blood-stained  hands,  sire,  that  you 
raise  the  German  colors  which  for  so  many  years  you  persecuted. 

The  people  recoil  at  your  royal  enthusiasm It  was 

an  Austrian  prince  who  drank  a  health  to  united  Germany, 
when  the  idea  was  scorned  in  Prussia.  The  House  of  Hapsburg 
would  have  the  history  of  past  ages  and  the  love  of  its  subjects 
on  its  side,  did  it  wish  to  assert  its  ancient  rights.  But  Austria 
recognizes  that  by  the  representatives  of  the  people  alone  can 
the  choice  of  an  emperor  be  made,  and  that  this  choice  must  be 
left  free.' 

On  the  2d  of  April,  the  second  session  of  the  United 
Diet  was  opened  at  Berlin.  Not  quite  a  year  had 
elapsed  since  Frederic  William,  with  all  the  pomp  and 
splendor  of  absolute  power,  had  harangued  the  first 
Diet  of  the  kingdom.  How  eventful  that  year  had 
been  !  The  Diet  was  this  time  opened  by  one  of  the 
ministers,  M.  Von  Camphausen,  who,  in  a  very  brief 
address,  stated  that  the  Diet  had  been  assembled  to  lay 
the  foundations  of  the  Pru^ian  constitution  by  adopting 
an  electoral  law.  A  loyal  address  was  immediately 
voted,  and  after  a  session  of  only  eight  days  the  Diet 
separated.  In  this  short  period,  the  electoral  law  was 
voted,  and  a  grant  of  40,000,000  thalers  —  to  be  levied 
in  such  manner  as  should  be  deemed  expedient  —  was 
made  to  the  government.  The  elections  shortly  after 
took  place,  and  on  the  appointed  day  the  first  Prussian 
national  assembly  met. 

Here  we  must  pause  in  the  sketch  which  we  have 
endeavored  to  give  of  the  history  of  Prussia  within  the 


268  THE    REVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA. 

present  century.  It  1ms  been  our  desire  to  show  what 
faults  on  the  part  of  the  government  caused  those  sad 
events  which  have  convulsed  a  country  that  was  wont 
to  be  so  tranquil.  We  trust  that  we  have  succeeded  in 
showing  how  fully  the  Prussians  were  justified  in  taking 
up  arms,  in  order  to  wrest  from  the  government  those 
liberal  institutions  which  the  spirit  of  the  age  so  loudly 
demands.  Here  we  dismiss  the  subject ;  for  within  the 
last  six  months,  the  history  of  Prussia  has  been  entirely 
absorbed  in  that  of  Germany,  and  our  limits  will  not 
permit  of  our  entering  on  so  vast  a  theme  as  that  of  the 
German  revolutionary  movement.  Had  we  even  the 
space,  we  should  hardly  venture  to  attempt  it.  Wo 
should  be  deterred  by  the  many  difficulties  which  the 
subject  presents,  for  we  know  not  where  to  seek  a 
guide  to  lead  us  through  the  dark  labyrinth  of  German 
affairs.  And,  indeed,  what  a  spectacle  Germany  now 
presents  !  Elements  of  discord  on  every  side  —  a  reg- 
ulating power  nowhere  ;  nation  opposed  to  nation,  and 
house  to  house,  without  any  visible  bond  which  can  re- 
unite them  ;  the  fear  of  reaction  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  far  greater  danger  of  anarchy  on  the  other  ;  innu- 
merable theories  and  plans  for  the  regeneration  of  the 
common  country,  and  not  a  man  to  put  them  into  exe- 
cution ;  the  middle  classes  opposed  to  the  aristocracy, 
and  to  what  remains  of  the  feudal  system  ;  the  work- 
ing classes  filled  with  hatred  and  envy  for  all  those 
who  hold  a  higher  place  than  themselves  in  the  social 
scale  ;  the  literary  men  and  the  students  of  the  univer- 
sities burning  to  realize  their  long  cherished  hopes  of 
establishing  a  republic  ;  Communism,  Socialism,  Four- 
ierism  pouring  their  poisoned  doctrines  into  the  ear  of 


THE    HEVOLUTION    IN    PRUSSIA.  269 

the  ignorant  or  the  unwary ;  —  such  is  the  picture  which 
Germany  presents  I 

What  is  to  be  the  result  of  this  state  of  things  ? 
Where  is  the  arm  that  shall  arrest  this  confusion,  and 
bring  forth  order  from  such  a  chaos  ?  Where  is  the 
man  possessed  of  virtue,  wisdom,  and  genius  sufficient 
to  unite  those  discordant  elements,  and  to  create,  as  it 
were,  a  new  society,  —  a  new  Germany  ?  We  look 
in  vain  for  such  a  one.  Although  the  apparent  reluc- 
tance with  which  he  made  liberal  concessions  to  his 
people  has  greatly  diminished  his  chance,  the  king  of 
Prussia  may,  if  he  act  with  prudence,  be  called  to  the 
imperial  throne.  The  dearth  of  great  men  in  Germany, 
and  the  distracted  condition  of  Austria,  make  him  un- 
questionably the  most  prominent  candidate  for  that  high 
and  difficult  station.  But  should  he  ever  attain  this 
goal  of  his  ambition,  we  very  much  doubt  whether  he 
could  succeed  in  establishing  a  permanent  government. 
We  believe  that  Germany  has  yet  many  storms  to  go 
through,  many  scenes  of  bloodshed  and  crime  to  wit- 
ness, before  she  can  reach  that  peace,  tranquillity,  and 
unity  which  she  is  now  seeking.  The  accumulated 
errors  of  ages  are  not  swept  away  in  a  day,  although  it 
be  a  common  mistake  of  our  time  to  suppose  so.  We 
are  too  prene  to  think  that  society  can  be  remodelled, 
and  states  reorganized,  with  the  same  promptitude  with 
which  we  erect  a  manufactory  or  lay  out  a  railroad, 
and  to  believe  that  the  mere  formation  of  a  government 
is  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  wants  of  a  people.  But  it  is 
not  so.  We  have  confidence  in  the  ultimate  good 
which  is  to  result  from  the  present  disturbed  condition 
of  the  Old  World.     We  cannot  believe  that  Europe  is 


270        THE  KEVOLUTION  IN  PRUSSIA. 

again  to  be  plunged  in  the  horrors  of  barbarism,  al- 
though, in  moments  of  despondency,  one  is  almost 
inclined  to  believe  it.  The  ultimate  result  will  be  —  it 
must  be,  if  we  believe  that  the  events  of  history  are 
under  the  control  of  Providence  —  to  favor  the  progress 
of  civilization.  Let  us  not,  however,  be  impatient  for 
the  result.  We  may  not  live  to  see  it.  Christianity, 
divine  as  it  is  in  its  origin,  and  aided  by  prophecies  and 
miracles,  has  existed  eighteen  centuries  in  the  world, 
and  yet  one  half  of  mankind  are  not  yet  subjected  to  its 
beneficent  sway.  Why  should  we,  then,  hope  greater 
success  for  institutions  purely  human  } 

As  for  Germany,  she  will,  we  trust,  feel  that  revolu- 
tions only  give  an  impetus  to  the  onward  progress  of 
mankind,  and  that  on  time  alone  depends  their  real  and 
permanent  improvement.  She  will  not,  let  us  hope,  be 
dazzled  by  the  seductive  illusion  of  establishing  at  once 
a  republic.  Let  her  rather  slowly  prepare  for  that  form 
of  government  which  is  the  ultimate  object  of  all  the 
European  revolutions.  To  adopt  such  a  government 
at  present  would  be,  in  our  opinion,  only  to  retard  its 
permanent  establishment ;  for  we  firmly  believe  that 
there  is  but  one  country  in  Europe  —  and  for  that  very 
reason,  she  is  less  disposed  than  any  other  to  adopt  the 
name  of  that  which  she  already  possesses  to  a  consid- 
erable extent  —  where  republican  institutions  would  not 
in  a  very  short  time  degenerate  into  despotism. 


THE  REVOLUTION   OF   1848  IN   SICILY. 


La  Rigenerazione ;  Giomale  Sforico  Politico  della  Sicilia, 
diretto  dal  Signer  Luigi  Tirrito.  Anno  primo  della  Ri- 
generazione.   Palermo.     1848. 

In  our  last  number,  we  gave  a  brief  account  of  the 
Conquest  of  Sicily  by  the  Normans,  and  presented  a 
sketch  of  what  may  be  deemed  the  brightest  period  in 
the  history  of  that  island.  Since  then,  the  periodical, 
the  title  of  which  is  quoted  above,  has  come  to  our 
notice,  and  from  the  materials  that  it  furnishes  we  can 
frame  an  imperfect  narrative  of  the  struggle  for  inde- 
pendence, which  commenced  in  that  land  in  1848, 
before  France  had  broken  down  the  barriers  which 
hemmed  in  the  mighty  flood  of  Revolution,  and  which 
she  is  now  as  intent  on  rebuilding  as  she  was  then 
eager  to  destroy.  To  render  this  account  more  intelli- 
gible, we  must  first  cast  a  glance  at  the  former  history 
of  the  island,  in  order  to  show  the  nature  of  its  connec- 
tion with  Naples.   . 

It  is  well  known  that  when  the  family  of  Hohen- 
staufFen  succeeded  the  Norman  princes  in  Southern 
Italy,  both  Naples  and  Sicily  were  united  under  one 


272  THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY. 

government.  This  continued  to  be  the  case  during 
the  administration  of  the  princes  of  the  House  of 
Anjou,  until  1282,  when,  in  consequence  of  the  Sicil- 
ian Vespers,  the  French  were  driven  from  Sicily,  and 
the  island  passed  under  the  dominion  of  the  House  of 
Arragon.  The  kingdoms  continued  to  be  separated 
until  Alphonso  V.  conquered  Naples,  and  once  more 
united  the  two  provinces  under  a  common  sway.  When 
the  house  of  Arragon  became  extinct,  both  kingdoms 
were  subjected  to  Spain,  by  whose  monarchs  they  were 
governed  until  the  death  of  Charles  IL,  (the  last  male 
heir  of  the  Spanish  branch  of  the  house  of  Austria) ; 
when  Philip  having  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  Spain, 
the  Two  Sicilies  passed  to  the  house  of  Austria.  This 
arrangement  was  not  destined  to  last  long.  Elizabeth 
Farnese,  the  second  wife  of  Philip  V.,  had  succeeded 
in  procuring  for  her  son  the  Duchies  of  Parma  and 
Tuscany.  But  a  ducal  coronet  alone  could  not  satisfy 
her  insatiable  ambition,  and  she  determined  to  use 
every  means  in  her  power  to  obtain  for  him  the  crown 
of  the  two  Sicilies.  Charles  was  enjoying  the  pleas- 
ures of  youth  at  his  ducal  residence  at  Parma,  when 
he  received  letters  from  his  mother,  apprizing  him  of 
the  plans  which  had  been  formed  for  his  future  great- 
ness. Spain,  France,  and  Lombardy  were  then  in 
league  against  the  empire;  a  mighty  French  army,  led 
by  Berwick,  had  passed  the  Rhine ;  pmothcr,  under  the 
command  of  Villars,  had  descended  into  Lombardy. 
The  object  of  this  undertaking  was  to  overthrow  the 
imperialists,  beyond  the  Rhine,  to  drive  them  from 
Lombardy,  and  to  conquer  the  Two  Sicilies,  '  which,' 
wrote  Elizabeth  to  her  son,  '  will  be  yours,  as  soon  as 


T^E    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  273 

they  are  rescued  from  their  present  possessors.  Go, 
then,  and  conquer !  The  most  splendid  crown  in  Italy- 
awaits  you.'  Charles,  naturally  ambitious,  and  sharing 
in  some  degree  the  warlike  spirit' of  his  ancestors,  was 
easily  persuaded  to  obey  this  summons,  especially  as 
he  believed  he  had  some  right  to  the  Two  Sicilies,  in 
consideration  of  the  ancient  dominion  which  the  kings 
of  Spain  had  exercised  over  them. 

The  expedition  against  Naples  was  successful,  and 
Charles,  after  he  had  entered  the  capital,  and  subdued 
the  different  fortresses  of  the  kingdom,  determined  to 
make  an  attack  on  Sicily.  The  people  of  that  island 
desired  him  to  be  their  monarch,  perhaps  as  much 
from  the  love  of  change,  as  from  the  natural  enmity 
of  all  Italians  for  the  Germans.  The  Spanish  fleet 
left  Naples  on  the  23d  of  August,  1734;  and  no  sooner 
had  it  appeared  before  Palermo,  than  the  Viceroy  fled 
to  Malta,  and  the  city  surrendered.  Messina  did  the 
same,  and  the  whole  island  soon  followed  the  example 
thus  given.  The  treaty  concluded  at  Vienna,  in  1739, 
confirmed  Charles  in  his  new  conquests,  and  thus  the 
Two  Sicilies  were  again  united  into  one  kingdom. 

The  first  object  of  the  young  king  was  to  reform  the 
legislation  of  the  country,  which,  under  the  dominion 
of  the  house  of  Austria,  had  been  much  neglected. 
But  he  had  neither  courage  nor  foresight  enough  to 
strike  a.  decisive  blow  at  all  the  abuses  which  had  been 
accumulating  for  centuries  in  the  State ;  and  although 
he  certainly  did  effect  some  salutary  reforms,  he  did 
much  less  than  a  prince  of  a  more  energetic  and  inde- 
pendent nature  might  have  accomplished.  The  feudal 
pretensions  of  the  aristocracy,  the  exorbitant  claims  of 
18 


274  THE   REVOLUTION    OF   1848  IN    SICILY. 

the  clergy,  the  municipal  privileges  of  the  cities,  were 
obstacles  to  reform,  which  more  firmness  and  wisdom 
might  have  overcome,  but  which  Charles  had  not  the 
face  to  surmount.  On  the  whole,  however,  when  we 
consider  the  misrule  to  which  the  Two  Sicilies  had 
been  so  long  accustomed,  the  reign  of  Charles  was 
rather  favorable  to  his  people.  In  1759,  this  monarch 
was  called  to  the  throne  of  Spain;  and  as  it  had  been 
stipulated  in  the  treaty  of  Vienna  that  the  Two  Sicilies 
should  never  again  be  united  to  the  Spanish  monarchy, 
he  conferred  the  former  kingdom  on  his  son,  who  com- 
menced his  reign  under  the  name  of  Ferdinand  IV. 

The  first  part  of  his  reign  offers  no  event  of  impor- 
tance; but  Ferdinand's  administration,  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  last  century,  was  marked  by  the  most  de- 
spotic and  inquisitorial  policy.  The  assassination  of 
Gustavus  of  Sweden,  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution 
in  France,  the  death  of  Louis  XVI.,  and  the  Reign  of 
Terror  in  Paris,  were  events  well  calculated  to  fill  with 
apprehension  a  government  which  had  rested  rather  on 
physical  force  than  on  the  love  of  its  subjects.  The 
vigilance  of  the  police  daily  increased,  innumerable 
arrests  on  the  slightest  suspicion  took  place,  and  the 
whole  kingdom  was  in  a  state  of  constant  agitation. 
Such  was  its  condition,  when  Bonaparte,  at  the  head  of 
a  republican  army,  entered  Italy,  drove  the  Austrians 
out  of  Lombardy,  and  agitated  every  part  of  the  pen- 
insula with  fear  of  change.  Alarmed  at  the  progress 
of  the  French,  the  king  of  Naples  declared  war  against 
them,  though  with  little  prospect  of  waging  it  with 
success.  The  invading  army  took  Gaeta,  Pescara, 
and  Civitella,  and  on  the  21st  of  December,  l"98,  the 


THE    REVOLITTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  275 

royal  family  were  obliged  to  leave  Naples,  carrying 
with  them  the  crown  jewels  and  treasures  of  the  State, 
and  leaving  the  unhappy  country  involved  in  domestic 
and  foreign  war.  On  the  23d  of  January,  the  French 
entered  Naples,  promising  the  people  a  bettor  govern- 
ment, and  that  neither  persons  nor  property  should  be 
molested.  Naples  was  declared  to  be  an  independent 
Republic,  and  was  to  be  administered  by  an  assembly 
of  citizens. 

The  French  did  not  long  occupy  the  city,  however, 
and  on  their  evacuating  the  territory  in  1799,  Ferdi- 
nand IV.  was  recalled  to  the  throne.  Exile  had  not 
taught  him  wisdom,  and  his  restoration  to  power  was 
the  beginning  of  a  new  career  of  cruelty  and  oppres- 
sion. In  1806,  on  the  approach  of  Joseph  Bonaparte 
and  Massena  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  army,  he  was 
again  obliged  to  abandon  his  capital,  and  under  the 
protection  of  the  English  he  sailed  for  Sicily.  Joseph 
entered  Naples,  and  was  shortly  after  pr6claimed  king 
of  the  Two  Sicilies ;  but  two  years  afterwards,  he  was 
called  to  the  vacant  throne  of  Spain,  and  Joachim 
Murat  became  king  of  Naples.  Meanwhile,  Sicily  re- 
mained under  the  control  of  the  Bourbons;  and  Queen 
Caroline,  taking  advantage  of  the  condition  of  the 
king,  who  was  incapable  of  attending  to  business,  as- 
sumed the  reins  of  government.  Weary  of  the  author- 
ity which  the  English  were  arrogating  to  themselves  in 
Sicily,  she  determined  to  rid  herself  of  them,  and  if 
all  hope  of  reconquering  Naples  was  gone,  to  reign  at 
least  unmolested  in  the  island.  For  this  purpose,  she 
concluded  a  treaty  with  Napoleon,  by  which  it  was 
agreed  that  the  ports  of  Sicily  should  be  opened  to  the 


276  THE   REVOLUTION    OF   1848   IN    SICILY. 

French,  on  condition  that  they  should  drive  the  En- 
glish away.  Whilst  these  negotiations  were  pending, 
Murat  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  get  possession 
of  the  island.  The  negotiations  between  Caroline  and 
Napoleon  could  not  be  so  secretly  carried  on  as  not 
to  become  known  to  the  English,  who  immediately 
began  to  counteract  the  political  measures  of  the 
queen. 

The  island  was  in  a  distracted  condition,  and  the 
English  determined  to  attempt  to  remedy  the  existing 
state  of  things  by  constitutional  means,  before  resorting 
to  open  force.  For  this  purpose,  they  induced  the 
government  to  convene  a  parliament ;  and  this  assem- 
bly, which  was  destined  to  produce  radical  changes  in 
the  organization  of  the  State,  met  in  1810.  By  it  the 
lands  held  by  feudal  tenure  were  made  allodial,  and 
many  baronies  were  abolished.  To  this  measure,  the 
barons,  who  seem  to  have  showed  a  most  disinterested 
and  patriotic  spirit,  made  no  objection,  although  the 
reform  could  not  but  injure  their  revenues  and  lessen 
their  influence.  The  parliament  also  decreed,  that  a 
general  assessment  of  the  land  should  be  made,  in 
order  that  the  land-tax  might  be  more  equitably  distrib- 
uted; and  great  improvements  were  effected  in  the 
judiciary.  In  these  reforms,  the  nobility  had  taken  a 
large  share;  and  the  queen,  finding  that  her  power 
was  on  the  wane,  resolved  to  act  vigorously  in  support 
of  the  royal  authority.  She  caused  five  of  the  princi- 
pal noblemen  in  the  island  to  be  arrested.  This  im- 
prudent course  defeated  the  object  which  she  had  in 
view ;  for  the  English,  finding  that  they  could  no  longer 
depend   upon   her,  especially  since   the    nriarriage   of 


THE    HEVOLUTION    OF    1848   IN    SICILY.  277 

Maria  Louisa  had  created  a  bond  of  union  between 
Napoleon  and  the  queen,  resolved  to  unite  with  the 
barons.  For  this  purpose,  Lord  Bentinck  was  sent 
as  minister  to  Palermo.  The  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  demand  the  liberation  of  the  barons  who  had  been 
imprisoned.  The  queen  haughtily  refused,  and  de- 
manded of  Lord  Bentinck  by  what  right  he  obtruded 
himself  into  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom.  Finding  that 
her  determination  was  inflexible,  Bentinck  left  the  room, 
exclaiming,  '  Either  a  constitution  or  a  revolution.* 
He  immediately  went  to  London,  and  having  procured 
full  powers,  returned  to  Naples  in  less  than  three 
months.  Now  that  he  was  invested  with  the  supreme 
command  of  the  army,  and  could  support  his  counsels 
with  an  armed  force,  the  queen  found  resistance  use- 
less. She  was  obliged  to  retire  to  a  country-seat  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Palermo,  and  the  king  was  forced 
to  abdicate  in  favor  of  his  son,  as  vice-general  of  the 
kingdom.  Bentinck  was  elected  captain-general  of 
Sicily,  and  consequently  the  whole  command  of  the 
nation  rested  in  his  hands.  These  events  occurred  in 
1812. 

The  parliament  was  again  convoked  for  the  purpose 
of  remedying  abuses  and  remodelling  the  fundamental 
laws.  A  new  constitution  was  formed,  and,  after  some 
hesitation  on  the  part  of  the  young  prince,  it  was  sol- 
emnly ratified.  By  this  instrument,  the  legislative 
power  and  the  power  of  levying  taxes  were  vested  in 
the  parliament  alone  ;  its  decrees,  when  sanctioned  by 
the  king,  were  to  have  the  force  of  law.  The  execu- 
tive power  was  committed  to  the  king,  whose  person 
was  to  be  sacred  and  inviolable.     The  judges  were 


278  THE    REVOHTTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILV. 

entirely  independent  of  both  king  and  parliament ;  the 
ministers  were  reponsible  for  every  act,  the  senate 
having  the  right  of  examining  and  impeaching  them  for 
high  treason.  The  parliament  was  composed  of  two 
chambers  ;  the  one  for  the  representatives  of  the  peo- 
ple, the  other  for  the  peers.  The  power  of  convoking 
parliament  belonged  exclusively  to  the  king,  who  was, 
however,  required  to  assemble  it  once  in  every  year. 
These  were  the  chief  features  of  a  constitution,  which 
was  soon  to  be  violated  by  the  monarch,  though  the 
people  justly  regarded  it  as  the  charter  of  their 
liberties. 

No  sooner,  indeed,  had  the  downfall  of  Napoleon 
restored  Ferdinand  once  more  to  the  throne  of  the 
Two  Sicilies,  than  he  abolished  this  constitution.  Such 
treachery  could  not  have  been  expected  from  a  king, 
who,  twice  an  exile  from  a  portion  of  his  dominions, 
had  been  received  by  the  Sicilians  with  hospitality,  and 
had  been  enabled  by  them  to  support  his  Neapolitan 
retainers,  his  expensive  army,  and  the  luxurious  court 
which  he  had  established  at  Palermo.  That  the  re- 
mainder of  his  reign  should  have  been  one  continued 
struggle  of  the  oppressed  Sicilians  against  his  despotic 
sway,  is  no  cause  for  wonder.  The  discontent  which 
had  long  been  cherished  at  last  broke  out  in  the  open 
rebellion  of  1820.  This  is  not  the  place  to  give  a  full 
account  of  the  celebrated  insurrection  which  then  took 
place.  It  is  well  known  that  the  king  granted  a 
constitution  for  Naples,  and  promised  to  restore  to  his 
Sicilian  subjects  the  constitution  of  1812  ;  but  the  ab- 
solute powers  of  Europe  objected  to  his  course  ;  and 
when  he  went  to  the  Congress  at  Laybach,  he  found 


THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  279 

that  the  Emperors  of  Austriii  and  Russia,  as  well  as 
the  King  of  Prussia,  were  determined  to  declare  void 
all  the  acts  of  his  government  subsequent  to  the  revolu- 
tionary movement.  Instead  of  maintaining  his  right  to 
regulate  the  affairs  of  his  own  kingdom  as  he  chose, 
Ferdinand  acquiesced  in  the  proposition  of  the  Northern 
powers  to  send  an  army  into  Italy  to  restore  him  to  ab- 
solute power.  He  was  thus  enabled  to  return  to  Naples 
once  more  as  its  absolute  sovereign,  but  branded  with 
infamy  for  his  treacherous  conduct.  Under  his  suc- 
cessor, Francis,  the  government  was  maintained  on  the 
same  principles. 

But  it  was  reserved  for  the  present  king,  Ferdinand  II., 
to  complete  the  work  of  despotism,  and  thus  to  prepare 
the  way  for  the  events  of  which  we  are  about  to  speak. 
When  Ferdinand  I.  was  restored  to  the  throne  of  the 
Two  Sicilies,  in  1815,  it  was  with  the  understanding 
that  the  island  of  Sicily  should  be  administered  as  a 
separate  kingdom,  possessing  independent  rights  and  a 
separate  constitution.  Unmindful  of  this,  he  had  no 
sooner  got  possession  of  the  throne  again,  than  he  la- 
bored to  centralize  every  thing  in  Naples.  He  never 
convened  the  parliament  of  Sicily,  and  although  the 
constitution  provided  that  the  taxes  should  not  exceed 
1,847,687  07ice.  without  the  consent  of  this  parliament, 
he  established  new  taxes  at  his  pleasure.  His  succes- 
soi's  followed  this  course,  so  that,  in  1838,  the  amount 
of  money  received  by  the  government  in  taxation  was 
5,800,000  once.  Had  this  money  been  spent  in  Sicily, 
the  Sicilians  would  have  had  less  cause  of  complaint. 
But  this  was  not  the  case.  Sicily  should  have  borne 
about  a  quarter  part  of  the  expenses  of  the  united  king- 


280  THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY. 

dom,  and  should  have  received  about  a  third  of  the 
offices  ;  instead  of  which,  it  had  to  pay  about  half  the 
annual  expenses,  and  scarcely  shared  at  all  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  state.  In  the  ministry  which  existed 
previously  to  the  late  insurrection,  out  of  eleven  minis- 
ters there  was  only  one  Sicilian,  and  he  occupied  the 
least  important  place. 

It  was  the  present  king  who  consummated  this  de- 
spotic work  in  1837,  by  taking  away  the  power  of  the 
Lieutenant-Gcneral  of  Sicily,  by  abolishing  the  Ministry 
of  State  for  Sicilian  aTfairs,  by  centralizing  in  Naples 
the  whole  administration  of  the  island,  and  by  confiding 
the  most  important  offices  in  the  island  to  Neapolitans, 
thus  reducing  Sicily  to  the  rank  of  a  province  of 
Naples.  By  this  means,  he  paralyzed  its  energies  and 
impoverished  its  people  ;  but  he  also  roused  the  na- 
tional indignation,  and  gave  rise  to  the  present  struggle 
for  independence.  Since  the  revolution  of  1821,  many 
petitions,  signed  by  large  numbers  of  Sicilians,  had 
been  addressed  to  the  government,  imploring  it  to 
grant  the  constitution  of  1812  to  the  island.  They  had 
all  proved  vain,  and  it  was  not  until  such  peaceful 
means  of  attaining  their  object  had  been  exhausted, 
that  the  Sicilians  had  recourse  to  force.  On  the  12th 
of  January,  1848,  the  growing  discontent  broke  out  in 
open  rebellion. 

The  beginning  of  this  insurrectionary  movement  was 
unquestionably  hastened  by  the  cffi^ct  which  the  liberal 
measures  of  the  new  papal  administration  had  pro- 
duced throughout  Italy.  When  Cardinal  Mastai  Fcrrcti 
succeeded  Gregory  XVI.,  in  the  month  of  June,  1846, 
it  was  thought  that  the  new  pope,  the  buon^  the  gran 


J; 


THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  281 

Pio,  as  he  was  enthusiastically  called  by  the  Italians, 
was  about  to  emancipate  Italy  from  the  state  of  degra- 
dation and  bondage  in  which  she  had  been  so  long  held. 
Doubtful  as  any  one,  who  is  guided  in  his  political 
speculations  by  the  sober  dictates  of  his  understanding 
rather  than  by  the  seductive  impulses  of  his  heart,  may 
be  as  to  the  future  prospects  of  Italy,  he  cannot  but  be 
interested  in  the  many  endeavors  which  have  been 
made  since  the  downfall  of  Napoleon,  by  the  people  of 
that  once  prosperous  land,  to  recover  their  indepen- 
dence and  their  former  standing  among  the  nations  of 
the  world.  The  restoration  of  Italian  nationality  un- 
der one  form  or  another  has  been  the  aim  of  all  Italian 
patriots,  since  1814.  The  Carbonari,  a  political  sect 
founded  in  the  kingdom  of  the  Two  Sicilies  during  the 
stormy  administration  of  Queen  Caroline,  continued  for 
a  long  time  to  be  the  principal  secret  society  of  Italy, 
but  was  at  length  superseded  by  the  sect  of  '  Young 
Italy,'  at  whose  head  was  Mazzini.  He  was  driven 
from  Italy  in  1831,  in  consequence  of  the  share  he  had 
taken  in  the  insurrectionary  movement  which  occurred 
after  the  French  revolution  of  1830 ;  and  he  maintained 
his  influence  by  his  contributions  to  a  journal  called  La 
Giovine  Italia,  which  he  founded  at  Marseilles.  At  a 
later  period,  he  attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole  of 
Europe,  not  by  any  merit  of  his  own,  but  through  the 
conduct  of  the  English  Home  Secretary,  who,  to  satisfy 
the  demands  of  the  Austrian  government,  violated  the 
secrecy  of  his  private  correspondence.  He  has  since, 
by  his  connection  with  the  late  revolutionary  govern- 
ment of  Rome,  become  the  object  of  admiration  of  the 
radical  party  in  Italy,  France,  and  England,  and,  we 


282  THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY. 

are  sorry  to  say,  of  many  of  our  own  countrymen,  who, 
through  a  mistaken  zeal  for  republican  principles,  are 
too  prone  to  admire  every  fanatical  demagogue  who 
may  chance  to  rise  for  a  few  hours  on  the  crest  of  a 
revolutionary  wave.  We  cannot  see  that  Americans 
are  any  more  bound  to  sympathize  with  every  radical 
movement  in  Europe,  which  dignifies  itself  with  the 
name  of  republican,  than  we  should  be  to  lend  a  favor- 
able ear  to  the  ravings  of  our  own  demagogues,  —  of 
those,  for  instance,  who  recently  kindled  a  civil  war  in 
Rhode  Island,  or  of  the  Anti-rent  party  who  assassi- 
nated sheriffs  and  constables  in  New  York.  The  sym- 
pathies of  the  true  American  should  be  enlisted  on  the 
side  of  liberty  and  order,  and  when  he  becomes  con- 
vinced that  those  two  blessings  can  only  be  attained  in 
Europe,  —  at  least,  for  the  present, — by  a  constitu- 
tional monarchy,  his  sympathies  should  be  with  that 
form  of  government. 

It  was  not  by  Mazzini  or  his  party  that  Italy  could  be 
regenerated.  To  suppose  that  the  Lombard  and  the 
Roman,  the  Sardinian  and  the  Neapolitan,  would  unite 
to  form  one  Italian  republic,  and  that  the  princes  who 
had  so  long  held  these  countries  under  their  absolute 
dominion  would  either  resign  their  privileges  and  place 
themselves  at  the  head  of  the  movement,  or  would  yield 
without  a  long  and  desperate  resistance  to  the  revolu- 
tionary torrent,  would  be  to  argue  little  knowledge 
either  of  human  nature  or  of  history.  Societies  like 
the  Carbonari,  the  Patrioti  Europei,  the  Fedcrati,  the 
Filadelfi,  the  Giovine  Italia,  or  any  of  the  innumerable 
associations  which  have  arisen  in  Italy  during  the 
present  century,  can  do  but  little  for  the  regeneration 


.'^' 


THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848   IN    SICILY.  283 

of  a  countrj'.  A  despotic  government  is  not  over- 
thrown, still  less  induced  to  adopt  a  different  political 
course,  by  such  means.  It  should  be  met  openly, 
frankly,  and  lawfully,  and  reminded  that  there  is  a 
power  greater  than  any  which  a  despotic  ruler  can  com- 
mand,—  public  opinion.  Moral  force  is  the  only  force 
likely  to  be  of  much  avail  against  a  government  which 
has  under  its  control  large  standing  armies.  This  truth 
began  to  be  understood  by  a  large  party  of  Italians, 
who  abandoned  these  secret  societies,  and  lent  a  willing 
ear  to  the  calmer  and  more  rational  views  of  such  men 
as  Gioberti,  Balbo,  and  D'Azeglio.  Gioberti,  in  his  able 
and  eloquent  work  on  the  supremacy  of  Italy,*  main- 
tained that,  in  order  to  establish  any  thing  like  political 
unity  in  the  peninsula,  a  league  of  Italian  princes,  hav- 
ing at  their  head  the  Pope,  must  be  formed.  Balbo 
and  D'Azeglio  preached  the  renouncement  of  all  vio- 
lent measures  ;  according  to  them,  the  independence  of 
Italy  could  be  attained  only  by  peaceful  measures,  by 
patience,  moderation,  and  endurance.  Arms  are  only 
to  be  resorted  to  vv^hen  all  other  means  have  been 
exhausted,  and  when  the  nation  is  ready  for  such  a 
struggle.  '  I  hold,'  says  D'Azeglio,  in  speaking  of  the 
melancholy  disturbances  which  occurred  at  Rimini  in 
1845,  '  I  hold  this  movement  a  premature  and  dan- 
gerous one,  and  I  shall  hold  all  such  partial  movements 
as  premature  and  dangerous.  I  may  say  boldly,  that  I 
consider  them  as  worthy  of  blame  ;  because  a  minority 
has  never  the  right  to  judge,  whether  the  time  has  come 


*  Del  Primato  Civile  e  Morale  degV  Italiani.    Per  V.  Gio- 
BEKTI.     1813. 


284  THE   REVOLUTION    OF   1848   IN    SICILY. 

or  not  to  plunge  the  nation  to  which  it  belongs  into  the 
great  struggle  for  independence  ;  for  it  has  not  the 
right  to  risk  on  a  mere  chance  the  subsistence,  the  tran- 
quillity, the  liberty,  the  life  of  an  incalculable  number 
of  fellow-cilizens,  and,  what  is  still  more  important,  the 
honor  and  future  destinies  of  a  whole  nation.'  *  Balbo 
advised  his  countrymen  to  wait  until  some  great  event 
in  Europe,  such  as  the  fall  of  the  Ottoman  Empire, 
should  render  probable  their  success  in  shaking  off  the 
yoke  of  Austrian  dominion,  the  first  and  necessary  step 
for  Italian  independence. t  In  speaking  of  the  different 
impulses  given  to  public  opinion,  we  should  not  forget 
the  annual  meetings  of  scientific  men  in  different  cities 
of  the  peninsula,  which  were  first  organized  in  1839, 
and  which,  by  bringing  together  men  from  different 
parts  of  the  country,  kept  alive  a  national  spirit.  Nor 
should  we  forget  the  privilege  of  copyright,  which  has 
been  but  recently  extended  to  the  whole  of  Italy,  and 
by  means  of  which,  the  different  publications  issued  in 
the  country  were  more  widely  circulated. 

When  Pius  IX.  was  raised  to  the  papal  throne,  it 
seemed  as  if  the  golden  dream  of  Gioberti  was  about 
to  be  realized.  The  first  wish  of  the  new  Papal  Gov- 
ernment appeared  to  be  to  found  an  administration 
more  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the  age.  A  general 
amnesty  was  granted  ;  hundreds  of  exiles,  who  for 
years  had  been  wandering  through  Europe  or  enjoying 
the  hospitality  of  France  and  England,  were  allowed  to 


*  Degli  ultimi  Cast  Di  Romagna.    Di  Massimo  D'Azeouo. 
1846. 

t  Belle  Speranze  d^ Italia.    Di  Cesabe  Balbo. 


THE   EEVOLUTION    OF   1848   IN    SICILY.  285 

revisit  their  native  land  ;  many  of  the  severest  laws 
against  the  press  were  abrogated  ;  the  code  was  re- 
vised, the  administration  reorganized  and  secularized, 
the  magistracy  reformed.  A  new  era  seemed  to  be 
dawning  for  Italy.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  people 
knew  no  bounds.  All  eyes  were  turned  towards  a 
pope,  who  seemed  to  renounce  all  the  political  tradi- 
tions of  the  Vatican,  and  to  be  ambitious  of  the  novel 
reputation  of  a  reforming  Sovereign  Pontiff.  From  one 
end  of  the  peninsula  to  the  other,  the  people  were  in- 
duced to  demand  of  their  sovereigns  reforms  corres- 
ponding to  those  which  had  been  made  at  Rome.  Tus- 
cany soon  followed  the  movement.  Charles  Albert,  to 
whose  memory  a  tribute  is  due,  in  spite  of  the  many 
blemishes  of  his  character,  for  the  noble  manner  in 
which  he  defended  the  cause  of  Italian  independence, 
and  then,  renouncing  his  honors  and  the  dream  of  an 
ambitious  life,  went  to  die  in  a  foreign  land  broken- 
hearted and  despairing,  was  soon  engaged  in  the 
struggle.  The  other  states  of  Italy  were  irresistibly 
hurried  on  in  the  same  course.  Who,  on  seeing  the 
enthusiasm  created  by  the  Pope  at  that  time,  could 
have  foreseen  the  events,  which  have  since  occurred  at 
Rome,  —  the  beloved  Pius  driven  from  his  capital,  and 
forced  to  seek  refuge  in  the  states  of  that  contemptible 
tyrant,  Ferdinand  of  Naples,  that  Borbone,  Borhon- 
accio,  Borhoncino,  ferocious  as  Nero,  and  mad  as  Cal- 
ligula,  as  the  Sicilians  contemptuously  call  him  ?  It  is 
a  memorable  lesson  to  remind  princes  and  statesmen  of 
the  heavy  responsibility  which  is  incurred,  by  attempt- 
ing the  great  work  of  reform,  unless  qertain  of  being 
able  to  stop  its  career  whenever  it  becomes  necessary. 


286  THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY. 

It  is  dangerous  to  slacken  the  reins  of  a  fiery  steed, 
unless  confident  that  you  have  retained  the  power  of 
checking  him  at  will. 

The  enthusiasm  to  which  the  acts  of  the  new  papal 
government  gave  rise,  necessarily  spread  to  the  king- 
dom of  the  Two  Sicilies.  Neither  the  despotism  of 
the  government,  nor  the  vigilance  of  its  agents,  could 
conceal  from  the  people  the  hopes  which  had  been 
awakened  in  other  parts  of  Italy.  No  custom-house 
barriers  or  military  outposts  could  prevent  the  magic 
words  of  independence  and  regeneration  from  reach- 
ing the  ears  of  the  discontented  subjects  of  Ferdinand 
of  Naples.  Like  the  other  nations  of  Italy,  they  were 
too  intent  on  their  great  aim,  the  liberty  of  their  coun- 
try, and  too  much  excited  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
moment,  to  stop  to  consider  whether  a  pope  could 
really  be  a  reformer,  in  the  sense  in  which  that  word 
is  at  present  understood  ;  whether  the  infallible  succes- 
sor of  St.  Peter  could,  by  a  stroke  of  his  pen,  undo 
the  work  of  his  equally  infallible  predecessors,  and 
remodel  the  whole  constitution  of  the  papal  govern- 
ment ;  whether  the  temporal  power  vested  in  the  hands 
of  a  sovereign,  who  in  all  spiritual  matters  is  absolute, 
could  be  other  than  absolute ;  whether  Catholicism,  as 
understood  at  Rome,  could  be  reconciled  with  a  free 
form  of  government.  These  were  questions  far  too 
serious,  and  requiring  too  much  reflection  for  the  Ital- 
ians to  have  meditated  them  as  they  ought,  before 
embarking  on  the  dangerous  sea  of  revolution.  The 
first  liberal  measures  of  a  pope  filled  with  the  best 
intentions,  but  unconscious  of  the  incompatibility  of 
his   authority   with   the   reforms   which    the   age    de- 


THE    KEVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  287 

manded,  were  enough  to  dazzle  the  imagination  of  all 
Italians,  and  to  fill  their  minds  with  the  golden  dream 
of  independence.  To  give  reality  to  this  dream,  and 
so  to  direct  public  opinion  as  both  to  check  the  hasty 
and  rash  ebullitions  of  patriotic  feeling,  so  natural 
amongst  a  people  long  restrained,  and  to  rouse  from 
their  apathy  those  whom  long  years  of  suffering  and 
passive  submission  had  rendered  almost  indifferent  to 
the  hopes  and  destiny  of  their  country,  was  the  hard 
task  which  the  intelligent  men  of  all  parts  of  the 
peninsula  had  to  perform. 

There  was  no  state  in  Italy  in  which  they  had  more 
difficulties  to  contend  with,  in  attempting  to  accomplish 
this  work,  than  the  Two  Sicilies.  The  political  differ- 
ences between  Naples  and  Sicily,  the  municipal  rivalry 
between  the  principal  cities  of  the  island,  the  indolence 
and  indifference  of  the  Italians,  the  courage  and  ardor 
of  the  Sicilians,  the  consequent  difficulty  of  urging  the 
former  and  restraining  the  latter,  and  the  want  of  any 
understanding  as  to  the  course  which  the  people  ought 
to  adopt,  were  obstacles  not  easily  overcome.  The 
leading  patriots  endeavored,  however,  to  convince  the 
people,  that  the  hatred  which  had  existed  between  the 
two  parts  of  the  country  had  been  kept  alive  by  the 
government,  which  hoped  by  this  means  to  keep  them 
more  surely  in  bondage ;  that  the  Sicilians  in  fact 
loved  the  Neapolitans,  although,  by  identifying  the 
people  with  the  government,  it  often  appeared  as  if 
they  cherished  an  invincible  hatred  against  them  ;  and 
that  the  Neapolitans,  who  were  suffering  the  same 
wrongs  as  the  Sicilians,  could  not  be  suspected  of 
wishing  to  subjugate  a  country  which  possessed  its  own 


288  THE   REVOLUTION    OF   1848  IN    SICILY. 

institutions  and  laws.  They  endeavored  also  to  break 
down  the  spirit  of  rivalry,  which  had  long  existed 
between  the  principal  cities  of  the  island,  and  to  check 
the  ardor  and  impatience  of  the  inhabitants. 

As  to  the  means  by  which  the  regeneration  of  the 
state  might  be  accomplished,  two  courses  were  pro- 
posed. The  one  was  preferred  by  those,  who,  knowing 
the  character  of  the  Neapolitan  government,  the  obsti- 
nacy of  the  king,  and  the  devotion  with  which  he  was 
served  by  the  army,  thought  that  it  was  necessary  to 
oppose  force  to  force,  and  make  an  appeal  to  arms. 
The  other  was  entirely  pacific,  and  was  favored  by 
those  who  thought  that  there  was  no  force  equal  to 
moral  force.  They  proposed  that,  by  means  of  clan- 
destine printing-presses  established  in  the  different 
cities,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  should  be  kept 
alive  and  prudently  guided  ;  and  that  the  people  should 
refuse  to  pay  the  taxes,  and  endeavor,  by  associating 
as  much  as  possible  with  the  army,  to  gain  it  over  to 
the  popular  cause.  The  latter  proposition  was  received 
with  the  greatest  favor,  and  the  nation  were  preparing 
to  carry  it  out,  when  the  Calabrians,  impatient  of  re- 
straint, and  exasperated  against  the  government,  broke 
out  in  open  rebellion'.  The  royal  troops,  aided  by  a 
very  effectual  police,  soon  disarmed  the  insurgents ; 
but  the  indignation  of  the  whole  nation  was  roused  by 
the  cruelty  which  the  government  displayed,  and  the 
king  perceived  it  would  be  necessary  to  adopt  some 
measure  to  tranquillize  the  public  feeling.  One  of  the 
ministers,  Santangelo,  who  had  rendered  himself  es- 
pecially obnoxious  to  the  people,  was  dismissed  ;  and 
although  the  honors  with  which  he  was  invested  in 


THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848   IN    SICILY.  289 

order  to  console  him  for  his  disgrace  somewhat  weak- 
ened the  effect,  the  feelings  of  the  people  were  some- 
what soothed.  In  the  theatres  and  public  places,  the 
cries  of  '  Long  live  the  King,  '  Long  live  Pope  Pius,' 
and  '  Long  live  the  Reform,'  were  constantly  heard.  In 
Sicily,  the  enthusiasm  at  the  disgrace  of  Santixngelo 
was  very  great,  for  he  had  always  been  regarded  as  a 
personal  enemy  of  the  people  of  the  island.  Any  man- 
ifestation of  this  enthusiasm  was  prohibited.  At  this 
time,  the  direction  of  the  police  of  Palermo  was  in  the 
hands  of  General  Vial.  By  his  inquisitorial  administra- 
tion, he  had  rendered  himself  the  object  of  universal 
hatred.  Indeed,  to  judge  from  his  conduct,  one  would 
suppose  that  his  sole  object  was  to  urge  the  people  to 
rebellion,  in  the  hope  that  the  nobility  and  the  wealthy 
inhabitants  of  the  city  would  join  him  in  putting  down 
any  such  attempt.  It  was  thus,  at  least,  that  the  people 
understood  his  conduct ;  for  when  proclamations  were 
posted  up  on  the  walls,  inviting  them  to  take  up  arms, 
they  immediately  tore  them  down,  declaring  that  the 
police  was  only  urging  them  to  rebellion  in  order  to 
ruin  them.  The  whole  population  of  the  island  was 
indeed  united  in  a  determination  to  obtain  from  the 
government  a  constitution,  and  only  to  appeal  to  arms 
when  all  other  means  should  fail.  There  was  no 
conspiracy  formed  ; 

'  Un  popol  non  congiura  j  ognun  s'intende 
Senza  accordo  verun ;  ' 

but  the  whole  nation  might  be  said  to  have  resolved  to 
accomplish  this  great  object.     No  secret  was  made  of 
this  intention,  and  great  agitation  prevailed  throughout 
19 


290  THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1818    IN    SICILY. 

the  country.  The  government  alone  'was  blind  to  the 
growing  discontent,  and  still  relied  on  its  military  force 
to  prevent  any  manifestation  of  opinion  in  the  island. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  month  of  January,  a  proclama- 
tion was  issued  from  Palermo  and  circulated  through- 
out the  island,  in  which  the  Sicilians  were  called  upon 
to  take  up  arms  in  the  following  energetic  language  : 

*  Sicilians,  the  time  for  prayers  is  passed  ;  pacific  protesta- 
tions, remonstrances,  and 'petitions,  all  have  remained  ineffec- 
tual. Ferdinand  has  treated  them  all  with  contempt  ;  and  a 
people  who  were  born  free,  and  are  now  loaded  with  chains  and 
reduced  to  misery,  can  no  longer  delay  to  claim  their  legiti- 
mate rights.  To  arms,  sons  of  Sicily  !  Our  united  force  will 
be  invincible.  The  break  of  day  on  the  12th  of  January  shall 
he  the  glorious  era  of  our  regeneration  and  independence.  Pa- 
lermo will  receive  with  transport  every  Sicilian  who  shall  come 
armed  to  sustain  the  common  cause,  and  establish  reformed 
institutions  in  conformity  with  the  progress  of  Europe,  and  the 
will  of  Italy  and  of  Pius  IX.  Union,  order,  obedience  to  chiefs, 
respect  to  property.  Robbery  is  declared  a  crime  of  high  trea- 
son against  the  country,  and  shall  be  punished  as  such.  AVho- 
ever  may  be  in  want,  shall  be  supplied  at  the  common  charge. 
Heaven  will  not  fail  to  second  our  just  undertaking.  Sici- 
lians, to  arms  ! ' 

Even  this  proclamation  was  unheeded  by  the  gov- 
ernment, and  the  consequence  was  that,  on  the  day 
appointed,  the  long  anticipated  revolution  broke  out. 
The  12th  of  January  had  been  selected  by  the  people 
because  it  was  the  king's  birthday,  a  day  which  was 
generally  celebrated  by  public  rejoicings,  but  which 
was  now  to  serve  as  the  epoch  from  which  to  date  a 
revolution  that  was  to  render  Ferdinand  the  object  of 
the  contempt  and  execration,  not  only  of  those  who  had 
to  suffer  fr6m  his  cruelty  and  tyranny,  but  of  all  such 


THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  291 

as  have  one  spark  of  generous  feeling  left.  On  the 
morning  of  that  day,  Palermo  wore  a  mournful  aspect. 
The  streets  were  deserted,  the  shops  closed,  the  troops 
were  confined  to  their  barracks,  and  one  might  have 
fancied  that  some  dire  calamity  had  befallen  the  city. 
No  agitation  was  visible  except  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  royal  palace,  which  was  surrounded  by  troops.  In 
the  course  of  the  day,  however,  animated  groups  began 
to  form  in  the  streets.  Bands  of  young  men  with  arms 
in  their  hands  marched  through  different  parts  of  the 
city,  encouraging  the  people,  and  shouting,  Long  live 
the  Pope  !  Towards  evening,  the  aspect  of  affairs  be- 
came more  menacing.  The  troops  were  ordered  out, 
barricades  were  formed,  and  a  conflict  commenced 
between  the  populace  and  the  soldiers.  But  either  the 
troops  sympathized  with  the  people,  or  they  were  un- 
willing to  fight,  for  they  were  repelled  at  almost  every 
point  without  much  bloodshed.  During  the  night,  the 
people  seemed  to  be  sole  masters  of  the  city,  which 
was  illuminated.  The  next  day,  however,  was  to  de- 
cide the  struggle.  The  troops  seemed  to  have  gained 
courage  during  the  night,  and  on  the  morrow  a  serious 
battle  commenced  between  the  two  parties.  The 
people  formed  a  more  deliberate  plan  of  attack,  and 
on  the  14th,  a  number  of  the  principal  noblemen  and 
citizens  of  Palermo  formed  a  Committee  of  Public 
Defence.  This  committee  was  divided  into  four  sec- 
tions ;  one  for  military  affairs,  of  which  Prince  Pan- 
telleria  was  the  head  ;  another  for  finances,  under  the 
direction  of  Marquis  Budini ;  a  third,  under  Marshal 
Settimo,  for  the  publication  of  all  matters  of  interest  to 
the  people ;  and  the   fourth   for  provisioning  the  city, 


292  THE   REVOLUTION    OF   1848   IN   SICILY. 

under  the  guidance  of  the  Duke  of  Monteleone.  The 
insurrection  was  thus  organized,  and  the  government, 
finding  no  other  means  of  subduing  the  insurgents, 
resolved  to  bombard  the  city.  Tbe  bombardment  con- 
sequently commenced  without  any  notice  given  to  the 
foreign  consuls  residing  at  Palermo.  So  direct  a  vio- 
lation of  the  law  of  nations  could  not  pass  unnoticed  ; 
and  on  the  19th  of  January,  the  foreign  consuls  met  at 
the  house  of  the  French  consul,  and  made  a  solemn 
protest  against  the  bombardment.  The  only  effect  of 
this  protest  was  to  suspend  hostilities  for  twenty-four 
hours;  and  on  the  21st,  the  firing  recommenced. 

But  weary  of  carrying  on  hostilities  which  seemed  to 
be  without  effect  on  the  exasperated  people,  the  com- 
mander of  the  troops  sent  to  the  Committee  of  Public 
Defence  to  ask  what  were  their  demands,  and  on  what 
conditions  they  would  lay  down  their  arms.  An  en- 
deavor to  ascertain  this  point  would  have  been  more 
reasonable  before  attacking  the  city  in  so  barbarous  a 
manner.  The  reply  of  the  committee  was  calm  and 
dignified,  and  must  have  proved  to  the  king's  brother, 
the  Count  of  Aquila,  who  was  then  with  the  Neapolitan 
fleet  which  was  at  anchor  before  Palermo,  that  the 
revolution  was  more  serious  than  the  government  had 
apprehended.  '  The  people,'  they  replied,  '  care  little 
for  the  horrors  of  a  bombardment,  and  will  lay  down 
their  arms  when  the  whole  of  Sicily,  represented  in  a 
general  parliament,  shall  have  adapted  to  the  wants  of 
the  times  that  constitution  which  was  solemnly  con- 
firmed by  its  kings,  recognized  by  foreign  powers,  and 
which  has  never  been  openly  taken  from  the  Sicilians.' 
Meanwhile,  however,  the  king,  by  a  decree  published 


THE   REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  293 

on  the  18th  of  January,  had  granted  some  concessions 
to  his  Sicilian  subjects.  It  was  provided  that  a  prince 
of  the  royal  family  should  reside  in  the  island  as  Lieu- 
tenant-General ;  separate  administrations  were  granted 
to  Naples  and  Sicily,  and  the  powers  of  the  Consulta 
di  Stato  were  increased.  These  concessions,  which, 
in  fact,  merely  reestablished  the  government  on  the 
same  footing  as  in  1816,  were  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  a 
people  who  began  to  be  conscious  of  their  strength. 
The  committee  refused  them,  and  once  more  promised 
to  lay  down  their  arms  in  the  hall  of  the  parliament 
when  it  should  be  assembled. 

Hostilities  were  accordingly  renewed.  The  palace 
of  the  governor  was  stormed  and  taken,  and  the  troops 
were  compelled  to  abandon  the  city,  and  take  refuge  in 
the  castle,  or  on  board  the  Neapolitan  fleet.  The 
castle  became  now  the  principal  object  of  the  attack  of 
the  insurgents.  While  they  were  preparing  to  march 
against  it,  the  commander  received  despatches  from  his 
government,  announcing  that,  on  the  29th  of  January, 
a  constitution  had  been  granted  for  the  kingdom  of  the 
Two  Sicilies.  This  was  on  the  3d  of  February.  An 
officer  was  immediately  sent  to  the  President  of  the 
General  Committee,  to  inform  him  of  the  gracious  act 
of  his  sovereign.  An  immense  crowd  had  assembled 
to  hear  the  official  communication  of  the  government 
read,  and  it  awaited  in  breathless  anxiety  the  reply  of 
the  General  Committee.  It  was  as  firm  as  their  for- 
mer replies  had  been.  The  people  had  taken  up  arms, 
they  said,  in  order  to  regain  their  former  constitution, 
which  in  1812  had  been  remodelled  by  their  parlia- 
ment ;  and  they  would  only  suspend  hostilities  when 


294  THE   REVOLUTION    OF    1848   IN    SICILY. 

the  parliament  should  have  been  assembled  in  Palermo. 
This  reply  was  received  with  unbounded  enthusiasm 
by  the  people.  On  the  following  day,  it  was  resolved 
to  attack  the  fort  of  Castellamarc.  On  the  8th  of  Feb- 
ruary it  surrendered,  and  the  tri-colored  flag,  inscribed 
with  the  magic  words,  Confederazione  Italiana,  was 
hoisted  on  the  battlements.  Colonel  Gross,  who  com- 
manded, was  permitted  to  embark  with  the  garrison, 
thus  leaving  Palermo  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the 
insurgents. 

Meanwhile,  the  rest  of  Sicily  had  thrown  off  the 
yoke  of  Neapolitan  dominion,  and  the  General  Com- 
mittee of  Palermo  had  proclaimed  itself  a  Provisional 
Government.  These  auspicious  events  were  celebrated 
by  a  solemn  Te  Deum,  executed  at  the  cathedral ;  and 
on  the  evening  of  the  6th,  the  city  was  illuminated  and 
the  theatres  were  opened.  The  writer  of  La  Rigene- 
razione  dwells  with  delight  on  the  enthusiasm  dis- 
played on  this  occasion.  The  splendid  duet  of  Bel- 
lini's Puritani  was  performed  amidst  the  rapturous 
shouts  of  the  assembly.     At  the  last  words, — 

'  Bello  e  afifrontar  la  morte 
Gridando  liberta  ! ' 

the  people  were  so  transported  by  the  words  and  the 
spirited  music  of  their  lamented  countryman,  that  they 
arose  and  joined  in  such  a  chorus  as  had  never  before 
been  heard  in  Palermo.  It  is  difficult  for  us  to  con- 
ceive of  the  impression  produced  by  such  a  scene  on 
an  Italian  assembly,  and  there  is  perhaps  some  reason 
to  distrust  the  success  in  any  great  undertaking  of  a 
people  which   thus   wastes  its   energies.    We   should 


THE    REVOLITTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  295 

make  due  allowance,  however,  for  the  excitable  tem- 
perament of  a  southern  race,  passionately  fond  of 
music,  and  for  whom,  owing  to  the  care  with  which  the 
governments  of  the  different  states  of  the  Peninsula 
guard  against  the  performance  of  any  music  which 
might  excite  the  multitude,  the  execution  of  certain 
pieces  has  become  almost  a  political  event.  Yet  those 
who  were  making  so  noisy  a  demonstration,  should 
have  been  reminded  of  what  M.  Michelet  once  said  to  a 
large  concourse  of  young  men  who  had  assembled  to 
hear  his  lecture,  and  who  were  applauding  him  in  the 
most  vociferous  manner  :  '  You  had  better  reserve  your 
strength,  for  you  may  be  called  upon  to  exercise  it  on 
some  more  important  occasion  than  this.' 

Meanwhile,  Lord  Minto,  the  English  Minister,  was  en- 
deavoring to  make  peace  between  the  King  of  Naples 
and  his  Sicilian  subjects.  The  constitution  granted  on 
the  29th  of  January  had  been,  as  we  have  seen,  rejected 
by  the  Sicilians,  who  still  maintained  that  they  would 
only  lay  down  their  arms,  when  they  had  obtained  a 
separate  parliament.  The  government  could  then  only 
choose  between  war  and  this  concession.  Owing  to  the 
intervention  of  Lord  Minto,  the  latter  course  was  fol- 
lowed. The  King  sanctioned  the  plan  of  convening,  a 
Sicilian  parliament,  and  on  the  24th  of  February,  the 
Provisional  Government  issued  a  decree  convoking  the 
parliament  for  the  25th  of  March.  Thus  all  cause  of 
difficulty  between  the  two  countries  seemed  to  have 
vanished.  The  King  of  Naples  had  sanctioned  the 
decree  for  opening  the  parliament ;  he  had  agreed  to 
adopt  the  constitution  of  1812,  with  such  modifications 
as  the  progress  of  the  age  might  demand ;  one  of  his 


296  THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY. 

brothci-s,  or  one  of  the  principal  noblemen  of  Sicily, 
was  to  govern  the  island  as  Viceroy ;  a  responsible 
minister  was  to  reside  in  Sicily,  and  money  was  to  be 
coined  in  both  states. 

The  fickle  monarch,  however,  fearing  that  he  had 
gone  too  far,  issued  on  the  22d  of  March  a  document 
in  which  he  solemnly  protested  against  the  proceedings 
of  the  Provisional  Government  of  Sicily.  They  tended, 
he  said,  to  the  dismemberment  of  the  kingdom  ;  and 
from  the  bearing  of  the  Sicilians,  it  was  evident  that 
they  had  determined  not  to  come  to  any  understanding 
with  the  government.  On  these  grounds,  the  king 
considered  it  his  duty  to  protest  against  any  act  which 
should  not  be  in  accordance  with  the  constitution  he 
had  granted.  He  had  apparently  forgotten  that  the 
Sicilians  had  refused  that  constitution,  or  perhaps,  with 
his  despotic  view  of  government,  he  did  not  understand 
that  a  constitution,  like  any  other  contract,  requires 
two  parties  to  it.  This  protest  was  only  laughed  at 
by  the  Sicilians ;  it  reached  Palermo  on  the  24th  of 
March,  and  on  the  following  day,  the  parliament  was 
solemnly  opened.  The  large  church  of  San  Domenico 
was  selected  as  the  place  where  the  ceremonies  of  the 
day  should  take  place.  Thirty-three  years  had  elapsed 
since  the  last  parliament  had  met;  and  the  joy  of  the 
people  may  readily  be  imagined,  when  they  heard 
the  solemn  peal  of  the  bell  of  San  Antonio,  which 
announced  to  the  city  that  the  representatives  of  the 
nation  had  once  more  assembled.  The  president  of 
the  Provisional  Government  addressed  the  assembly, 
and  rendered  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
General   Committee   had  performed  the  difficult  and 


THE    REVOLITTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  297 

arduous  task  which  it  had  undertaken.  He  ended  by 
declaring  that  the  parliament  of  Sicily  was  now  sol- 
emnly opened,  and  then  requested  the  two  houses  to 
adjourn  to  the  halls  which  had  been  provided  for  their 
meetings,  there  to  decide  immediately  upon  the  form 
of  the  executive.  The  multitude  then  retired,  but  re- 
mained till  a  late  hour  at  night  in  the  streets,  par- 
ticipating in  the  festivities  of  the  occasion.  On  the 
following  day,  the  Parliament  issued  a  decree  that  the 
executive  power  should  be  entrusted  to  a  President  of 
the  government,  and  to  six  ministers  to  be  named  by 
the  President.  Ruggiero  Settimo  was  unanimously 
elected  President,  and  immediately  formed  a  ministry, 
of  which  Michele  Amari,  the  distinguished  author  of 
the  Guerra  del  Vespro  Siciliano,*  was  a  member. 
The  Parliament  then  entered  upon  its  labors.  On  the 
13th  of  April,  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  an- 
nounced to  the  Parliament,  that  the  King  of  Naples 
having  sent  four  plenipotentiaries  to  represent  the  Two 
Sicilies  at  the  meeting  of  the  Italian  League  which 
was  to  take  place  at  Rome,  he  had  come  to  propose 
that  the  Parliament  should  decree,  that  Ferdinand  of 
Bourbon  had,  by  this  act,  forfeited  his  right  to  the 
crown.  This  proposition  was  received  with  the  great- 
est enthusiasm,  and  the  following  decree  was  voted. 

*  The  Parliament  declares  :  — 

'  1 .  Ferdinand  of  Bourbon  and  his  dynasty  are  for  ever  fallen 
from  the  throne  of  Sicily. 

'  2.  Sicily  shall  govern  herself  constitutionally,  and  call  to  the 
throne  an  Italian  Prince  as  soon  as  she  shall  have  reformed  her 
statuto.''- 

*  See  the  JV.  A.  Review  for  April,  1847. 


298  THE   REVOLUTION    OF   1848   IN   SICILY. 

This  decree  was  signed  by  the  Marquis  of  Torrearsa, 
President  of  the  Chamber  of  Commons,  by  the  Duke 
of  Serradefalco,  President  of  the  Chamber  of  Peers, 
and  by  Ruggicro  Settimo,  President  of  the  Kingdom. 

In  conformity  with  this  law,  the  second  son  of  the 
late  king  of  Sardinia  was  called  to  the  vacant  throne, 
on  the  10th  of  July,  under  the  name  of  Albert  Ame- 
deus  I.,  King  of  Sicily.  The  crown  was  refused  by 
this  Prince,  and  the  king  of  Naples  formally  protested 
against  the  act  by  which  the  Parliament  had  declared 
the  throne  vacant,  and  offered  it  to  the  Sardinian 
Prince ;  and  he  immediately  ordered  an  expedition  to 
be  equipped  against  his  Sicilian  subjects.  Conse- 
quently, on  the  29th  of  August,  a  body  of  14,000  troops 
were  sent  to  reinforce  the  garrison  of  Messina,  and  the 
city  was  formally  summoned  to  surrender.  The  au- 
thorities having  refused,  the  place  was  bombarded,  and 
after  a  few  days,  it  was  compelled  to  yield.  This 
characteristic  act  of  useless  barbarity,  which  reduced 
the  once  flourishing  and  beautiful  city  of  Messina  almost 
to  a  heap  of  ruins,  began  the  series  of  events  which 
have  marked  the  reestablishment  of  Neapolitan  rule  in 
Sicily. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  give  even  a  sketch  of  the 
bloody  struggle  by  which  Naples  has  once  more 
gained  possession  of  the  island.  Our  purpose  is  al- 
ready attained,  if  we  have  given  our  readers  any  more 
correct  or  definite  impressions  on  the  subject  of  this 
Sicilian  revolt  tlian  they  before  possessed.  That  a 
revolution  commenced  under  so  favorable  auspices, 
and  which  at  first  inspired  us  with  lively  hopes,  that 
the  time  had  at  last  arrived  when  justice  was  to  be 


THE    REVOLUTION    OF    1848    IN    SICILY.  299 

done  to  a  nation  which  had  been  so  long  held  in  bon- 
dage,—  that  this  revolution  has  ultimately  proved  un- 
successful, should  surprise  no  one.  The  regeneration 
of  Sicily  depended  on  the  regeneration  of  Italy ;  left 
to  themselves,  the  islanders  could  do  nothing.  When 
Rome  fell  into  the  hands  of  such  men  as  Mazzini  and 
Garibaldi,  and  Charles  Albert  was  defeated  in  his  last 
heroic  struggle  with  the  Austrians,  the  hopes  of  Italy 
were  crushed  for  the  present  century,  perhaps  forever. 
Surely  there  never  was  a  more  favorable  moment  for 
that  unhappy  country  to  assume  her  former  rank  among 
the  nations  of  the  world  than  after  the  February  Revo- 
lution in  France.  Austria  was  distracted  by  internal 
dissensions,  and  consequently  lay  open  to  every  attack 
from  without ;  England  was  unwilling,  if  not  unable, 
to  go  to  war ;  and  France  would  unquestionably  have 
sent  an  army  to  the  rescue  of  the  Italians,  had  they 
demanded  such  aid.  And  what  have  the  Italians  ac- 
complished ?  Although  the  reply  may  seem  harsh  to 
some  ears,  we  can  but  answer,  nothing.  They  evinced 
great  enthusiasm,  sang  patriotic  songs,  unfurled  the 
Italian  banner  from  one  end  of  the  peninsula  to  the 
other,  took  up  arms  for  their  defence,  and  gave  proofs 
of  courage  and  energy  on  a  few  occasions.  But  what 
has  been  the  result  ?  When  the  revolution  commenced, 
Rome  had  a  liberal  sovereign,  who  governed  consti- 
tutionally ;  he  was  hurled  from  the  throne,  and  has 
now  returned  to  the  Vatican  without  having  promised 
a  single  political  guaranty  to  his  people  ;  the  Lom- 
bardo- Venetian  kingdom  was  governed  by  foreigners, 
and  the  foreigner  still  rules  there.  The  two  Sicilies 
were  subjected  to  the  capricious  sway  of  a  Spanish 


300  THE   REVOLUTION   OF   1848   IN   SICILY. 

Bourbon,  and  he  still  governs  them.  Two  years  have 
passed,  during  which  the  peninsula  has  been  agitated 
and  impoverished  by  war ;  her  commerce  has  been 
stopped ;  foreign  travel,  which  has  been  a  source  of 
large  income  to  her,  has  been  impeded ;  her  rulers 
have  been  rendered  more  despotic  by  her  unsuccessful 
efforts  at  shaking  off  their  yoke ;  the  courage  of  her 
people  has  come  to  be  doubted,  and  less  sympathy  is 
felt  for  her.  Her  future  attempts  at  regeneration  will 
be  distrusted  after  she  has  missed  such  an  opportunity 
as  that  which  has  just  been  afforded,  and  the  world  will 
reproach  her  in  the  words  of  one  of  her  own  poets : 

'  Mesta  Italia !     .    .     .     . 
Qual  momenlo  hai  tu  perduto ! 
Quel  momento,  oh  Dio,  chi  sa 
Se  mai  piu  ritornera ! 
Gia  sorgea  ringiovanita 
L'avillita  tua  virtii, 
Come  mai  tornar  potrai 
Al  languor  di  servitii.' 

Is  it  true,  then,  that  Italy  has  so  degenerated  that 
no  hope  for  her  remains,  —  that  she  has  fallen  never 
more  to  rise  ?  He  must  be  a  bold  prophet  who  will 
dare  to  answer  this  question  now.  Yet,  as  long  as 
there  is  a  spark  of  life  left  in  a  nation  whose  past  his- 
tory can  almost  compensate  for  its  present  degradation, 
we  shall  not  think  that  all  chance  is  lost  of  seeing 
Italy  once  more  prosperous  and  independent. 


SCHMIDT'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  ALBIGENSES. 


Histoire  et  Doctrine  de  la  Secte  des  Cathares  ou  Albigeois. 
Par  C.  Schmidt,  Professeur  k  la  Faculte  de  Theologie  et  au 
Seminaire  Protestant  de  Strasbourg.  Paris  et  Geneve.  1849. 
2  vols.     8vo. 

Among  the  heretical  sects  which  menaced  the  safety 
of  the  Church  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries, 
none  is  more  celebrated  than  that  of  the  Cathari  or 
Albigenses.  Its  history  is  deserving  of  peculiar  atten- 
tion. The  curious  system  professed  by  its  adherents, 
in  which  many  of  the  errors  of  paganism  were  so 
strangely  blended  with  what  was  most  pure  and  spiritual 
in  Christianity,  the  heroism  with  which  they  struggled 
against  their  powerful  foes,  and  the  cruelties  to  which 
the  latter  subjected  them  during  that  melancholy 
crusade  which  laid  waste  one  of  the  richest  and  most 
flourishing  countries  of  Europe,  give  to  their  history 
an  uncommon  interest.  The  origin  of  the  Cathari  has 
been  the  subject  of  much  controversy  ;  by  some,  they 
have  been  regarded  as  the  immediate  descendants  of 
the  early  Manicheans ;    others   have    maintained   that 


302      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

they  derived  their  doctrines  from  some  Gnostic  sect,  or 
from  the  Priscillianists  and  the  Paulicians  or  Bogomiles. 
Mr.  Schmidt  ascribes  to  them  a  Gnuco-Slavonic  origin. 
According  to  him,  their  doctrines  originated  in  Bulgaria 
at  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century.  The  Slavonic 
population  of  this  country  were  converted  to  Chris- 
tianity so  late  as  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century  by 
two  Greek  monks,  Methodius  and  Cyrillus.  These  mis- 
sionaries had  allowed  the  neophytes  to  preserve  their 
national  language  in  the  celebration  of  the  rites  of  the 
Church.  At  a  later  period,  this  politic  conduct,  to 
which  the  rapid  conversion  of  the  inhabitants  was 
mainly  to  be  ascribed,  was  abandoned,  and  the  use  of 
the  Slavonic  dialect  in  public  worship  was  forbidden  by 
the  most  stringent  regulations.  The  spirit  of  opposition 
to  which  this  persecution  of  the  national  language  — 
that  most  precious  jewel  of  a  nation's  inheritance  — 
excited  among  the  people,  was  singularly  favorable  to 
the  growth  of  heresy.  That  doctrines  like  those  of  the 
Cathari,  in  which  the  instructions  of  Christianity  were 
so  closely  mingled  with  many  pagan  superstitions, 
should  have  been  adopted  by  the  people,  is  accounted 
for  by  the  recent  date  of  their  conversion  from  heathen- 
ism. Their  former  belief  in  the  existence  of  an  evil 
spirit,  known  under  the  name  of  Czernebog  or  Diabol, 
to  whom  they  rendered  a  worship  equal  to  that  conse- 
crated to  God,  might  well  prepare  them  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  new  heresy,  which  was  founded  on  the 
belief  in  two  supreme  spirits,  the  one  good  and  the 
other  evil. 

It  seems  plausible,  then,  that  this  system  was   in- 
vented, at  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century,  in  some 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      303 

Graico-Slavonic  monastery  in  Bulgaria,  where  the 
monks,  exasperated  by  the  persecution  to  which  the 
national  language  had  been  subjected,  were  disposed  to 
shake  off  the  yoke  of  the  Church  which  had  ordered 
this  great  wrong.  Abandoned,  in  the  solitude  of  their 
monastery,  to  their  own  meditations  and  studies,  they 
may  have  endeavored  to  form  a  religious  system  for 
themselves,  and  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the 
wqrld  is  governed  by  two  principles,  and  that,  in  order 
to  become  pure  (/va^uooc),  it  is  necessary  to  free  the  soul 
from  all  worldly  claims.*  If  we  consider  that  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  Manichean  heresy  had  been  carefully 
preserved  in  the  monasteries  of  the  East,  and  that, 

*  Cathari,  from  the  Greek  word  KaSaoug,  seems  to  have 
been  the  original  name  of  the  sect.  It  was  afterwards  known 
under  different  names,  according  to  the  different  countries  in 
which  it  appeared.  In  Italy,  its  partisans  were  commonly 
called  Patareni,  probably  from  a  place  of  ill-repute  at  Milan, 
where  they  were  in  the  habit  of  meeting.  In  the  north  of 
France  and  in  England,  they  went  under  the  appellation  of 
Publicani.  The  derivation  of  this  name  is  somewhat  obscure, 
but  according  to  Ducange  and  Mosheim,  it  was  a  corruption  of 
Pauliciani,  a  name  by  which  the  crusaders  called  them  on 
their  return  from  the  East.  In  the  south  of  France,  where  they 
were  most  numerous,  they  were  known  under  the  names  of* 
Texiores,  from  the  large  number  of  weavers  who  adopted  their 
doctrines  ;  —  and  of  Bonshommes  or  Albigenses,  from  the  terri- 
tory in  which  they  principally  resided.  It  is  by  this  last  name 
that  they  are  most  commonly  known.  In  parts  of  Italy,  they 
were  called  Cazari  or  Gazari,  the  Greek  5  being  pronounced 
as  a  z.  The  pronunciation  gave  rise  to  the  German  word 
Ketzer,  which  afterwards  became  the  generic  name  for  all 
heretics,  as  the  word  Cathari  had  been  the  generic  name  of 
several  of  the  heretical  sects  of  the  Middle  Ages. 


304     Schmidt's  histobt  of  the  albigenses. 

consequently,  the  Greek  monks  of  Bulgaria  must  have 
been  acquainted  with  them  ;  if  we  remember,  too,  that 
the  belief  that  the  life  of  man  is  a  constant  struggle 
with  the  devil  was  one  of  the  favorite  doctrines  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  it  will  not  appear  surprising  that  their 
speculations  took  this  form.  It  was  not  strange  that 
they  should  so  exaggerate  the  power  of  Satan  as  to 
consider  him  at  last  as  the  equal  of  the  Deity.  But  the 
argument  which  seems  to  have  the  most  weight  in  favor 
of  our  author's  opinion  is,  that  the  translation  of  the 
Testament  in  use  among  the  Cathari  of  a  later  period 
was  from  the  original  text  commonly  used  in  the 
Greek  Church,  and  which  differed  considerably  from 
that  adopted  by  the  Latins. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  the  origin  of  the 
heresy,  it  is  certain  that,  about  the  middle  of  the  tenth 
century,  it  began  to  spread  rapidly  throughout  Europe, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth,  it  had  attained  its  greatest 
development.  When,  in  1198,  Innocent  III.  ascended 
the  papal  throne,  the  Cathari  were  numerous  through- 
out the  whole  south  of  Europe,  and  even  in  Flanders, 
and  parts  of  Germany  and  England  ;  they  had  suc- 
ceeded in  establishing,  in  the  midst  of  an  orthodox 
.society,  an  heretical  church,  firmly  organized,  and 
daily  acquiring  new  strength  by  the  zeal  of  proselytes 
willing  to  lay  down  their  lives  for  their  faith. 

It  was  in  the  south  of  France  that  the  heresy  had  the 
most  numerous  adherents.  There  it  resisted  longer 
than  in  any  other  part  of  Europe  the  cruel  war  which 
the  church  waged  against  it ;  and  it  was  not  until  the 
spirit  of  the  people  of  Languedoc  was  broken,  and  their 
nationality  merged  in  that  of  the  French,  that  the  sect 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      305 

was  finally  extirpated.  Many  causes  combined  to  favor 
the  growth  of  heresy  in  these  provinces.  The  state  of 
civilization,  which  was  more  advanced  than  in  the 
northern-  parts  of  France,  and  which  gave  rise  to  a 
feeling  of  jealousy  and  rivalry  not  extinguished  until 
the  south  was  subjected  to  the  sway  of  the  French  king, 
the  civil  and  political  liberty  which  the  people  enjoyed, 
and  the  independent  tone  which  the  Troubadours  as- 
sumed in  their  writings,  —  had  produced  a  greater 
toleration  of  religious  opinions  than  existed  in  any 
other  country  of  Europe.  At  the  time  of  which  we 
are  writing,  this  toleration  was  so  great  that  the  heretic 
church  was  allowed  to  exist  unmolested  by  the  side  of 
its  formidable  rival ;  and  it  was  not  unusual  to  find,  in 
the  same  family,  Catholics  and  Cathari  living  at  peace 
with  each  other.  Catholicism  had  lost  many  of  its  ad- 
here^its  by  the  vices  of  the  clergy  and  its  other  profes- 
sors. Ecclesiastical  dignities  were  monopolized  by 
members  of  powerful  families,  who  passed  their  lives 
in  sensual  enjoyment.  The  clergy  had  become  an 
object  of  such  general  contempt,  that  the  saying,  *  I 
had  rather  be  a  priest  than  have  done  this  thing,'  be- 
came as  proverbial  as  the  former  one,  '  I  had  rather  be 
a  Jew.'  The  Troubadours,  in  sarcastic  sirventes^ 
openly  attacked  the  vices  and  crimes  of  the  priests  and 
monks.  '  There  is  no  crime,'  says  one  of  these  poets, 
'  for  which  absolution  may  not  be  obtained.  For 
money,  they  would  give  to  renegades  or  usurers  that 
Christian  burial  which  they  would  refuse  to  the  poor, 
who  have  not  the  means  of  paying  for  it.  They  pass 
the  whole  year  in  luxurious  living,  buying  good  fish, 
20 


306        SCHMHU'S    HISTORY    OF   THE    ALBIGENSES. 

very  white  bread,  and  exquisite  wines.'  *  To  this  de- 
plorable condition  of  the  clergy,  who,  as  a  chronicler  of 
the  time  expresses  it,  '  instead  of  feeding  their  flock, 
thought  only  of  fleecing  them,  and  what  was  worse, 
instead  of  endeavoring  to  instruct  them,  set  them  the 
example  of  every  vice,'  the  rapid  growth  of  the  sect 
may  be  principally  ascribed,  especially  as  the  pure  and 
virtuous  lives  of  the  heretics  contrasted  so  favorably 
with  those  of  the  priests.  As  the  number  of  the  here- 
tics increased,  the  tithes  in  many  places  were  no  longer 
paid.  The  churches,  abandoned  by  the  people,  were 
shut  up  and  fell  into  ruin.  On  the  eve  of  the  great 
Christian  holidays,  at  the  time  when  these  churches  had 
been  wont  to  be  crowded  with  a  pious  multitude,  assem- 
bled to  witness  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  the  Catholic 
service,  the  populace  collected  to  perform  obscene 
dances  or  sing  profane  songs  around  the  deserted 
altars.  The  whole  Catholic  system  seemed  to  be 
crumbling  into  dust.  Many  of  the  most  influential 
noblemen  of  the  country  lent  their  aid  to  the  heretics, 
who,  under  such  protection,  were  enabled  to  organize 
their  church.  It  was  divided  into  several  dioceses,  the 
principal  of  which  was  at  Toulouse,  where  reigned 
Count  Raymond,  who  had  himself  joined  the  sect. 

No  sooner  had  Innocent  III.  been  called  to  the  papal 
throne,  than  his  attention  was  drawn  by  the  Archbishop 
of  Auch  to  the  suffering  condition  of  the  Church  in 
southern  France.  He  at  once  resolved  to  devote  all 
his  energies  to  the  extirpation  of  the  heresy,  which, 

•  Pierre  Cardinal,  apod  Millot,  Hist,  de  Troubadours.  III. 
p.  269. 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      307 

unless  speedily  counteracted,  would  destroy  for  ever 
the  authority  of  the  Romish  Church.  He  regarded  it 
as  the  sacred  mission,  which  he  was  called  upon  to 
accomplish,  not  only  to  root  out  the  heresy,  but  to 
exterminate  the  heretics.  He  did  not  look  upon  them 
as  men  whose  judgments  were  erroneous,  and  who 
should  consequently  be  converted  by  the  mild  applian- 
ces of  persuasion,  but  rather  as  spirits  of  evil,  who 
labored  to  corrupt  mankind  and  to  lead  their  followers 
to  perdition.  No  measures  seemed  too  violent  which 
might  accomplish  his  object.  For  this  he  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  devastate  that  beautiful  land,  which  had  been 
the  resort  of  the  most  learned  and  accomplished  men 
of  the  age  ;  for  this  he  was  willing,  on  the  ruins  of 
that  once  prosperous  country,  to  establish  the  Inqui- 
sition, and  to  ei'ect  the  scaffold  and  the  stake.  Where 
peace  and  civilization  had  reigned,  war,  —  not  such  sis 
the  civilization  of  modern  times  has  rendered  it,  —  but 
mediaeval  war,  with  all  the  horrors  which  the  word 
implies,  a  war  of  extermination  and  ruin,  was  waged 
in  the  name  of  the  Church.  Innocent  believed  that 
his  first  and  highest  duty  was  to  oppose  the  stream 
of  heretical  opinions  before  it  had  overwhelmed  the 
Church  which  he  was  appointed  to  defend. 

But  before  we  speak  of  the  crusade  against  the  un- 
fortunate Albigenses,  it  may  be  proper  to  present  a 
brief  account  of  their  doctrines.  The  task  is  not  an 
easy  one.  All  the  works  written  by  members  of  the 
sect  have  been  lost,  and  the  historian  is  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  the  writings  of  their  adversaries,  in 
order  to  obtain  any  information  in  respect  to  their 
tenets.     Hence  the  confusion  and  obscurity  which  pre- 


308      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

vail  in  regard  to  them,  and  wliich  have  even  caused 
some  writers  to  confound  the  Cathari  with  other  sects, 
—  the  Waldenses,  for  exaipple,  —  whose  doctrines 
were  on  many  points  entirely  different.  Other  writers, 
distrusting  the  accounts  given  of  them  by  Catholic 
authors,  have  been  led  to  view  them  far  more  favora- 
bly than  a  close  examination  of  the  authorities  will 
warrant.  Those  whose  religious  opinions  incline  them 
to  sympathize  with  all  who,  in  past  ages,  have  opposed 
the  power  of  Rome,  may  naturally  be  unwilling  to 
place  confidence  in  such  authorities  ;  but  we  believe 
these  authorities  may  be  consulted  with  safety.  Many 
of  those  who  undertook  the  refutation  of  the  doctrines 
of  the  Cathari  had  once  themselves  belonged  to  that 
sect,  and  must  consequently  have  been  acquainted  with 
its  doctrines.*  There  are  books  on  the  subject  so 
voluminous,  and  giving  evidence  of  such  erudition  and 
research,  that  it  seems  hardly  probable  that  they  could 
have  been  written  to  refute  doctrines  wholly  imaginary. 
A  strong  argument  in  favor  of  the  authority  of  these 
works  is  the  fact  that,  whilst  they  agree  with  each 
other  in  all  essential  points,  their  testimony  is  corrobo- 
rated by  the  depositions  of  the  witnesses  and  the  ac- 
cused before  the  inquisitorial  tribunals  of  France  and 
Italy.  It  would,  indeed,  be  desirable  to  have  some 
work  writen  by  a  Catharist,  but  none  such  exist,  or 
have  come  to  light;  and  from  the  writings  of  the  advcr- 

*  Of  these,  Reinerius  Sacchoni,  a  natiye  of  Piocenza,  is  the 
ooe  to  whom  writers  on  this  subject  most  frequently  refer.  Uis 
work  entitled,  Summa  dt  Cutharis  et  Leonistis  has  been  pub- 
lished in  the  fifth  volume  of  the  Thesaurus  JSTvvus  Anecdot.  by 
Martene  and  Durand. 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      309 

saries  of  the  heresy  we  collect  the  following  summary 
of  the  doctrines  professed  by  its  adherents. 

The  fundamental  principle  of  the  whole  system  is 
one  which  .must  form  the  basis  of  every  spiritual  re- 
ligion ;  namely,  that  God  must  contain  within  himself 
every  perfection.  In  him  there  can  be  nothing  evil, 
nor  can  any  thing  bad  emanate  from  him.  From  this, 
the  Cathari  infer  that  eveiy  thing  created  by  this  God 
must  be  perfect  as  he  himself  is  perfect,  and  that,  con- 
sequently, as  nothing  in  the  visible  world  is  perfect, 
this  world  cannot  be  his  work.  All  created  beings 
are  limited  in  their  attributes  and  full  of  imperfections. 
The  perfect  God  cannot,  then,  have  given  them  life, 
since,  if  they  proceeded  from  hfm,  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  account  for  their  not  being  perfect  as  himself. 
If  he  was  not  able  to  make  them  perfect,  he  is  not 
all-powerful.  If  he  was  able,  and  did  not,  he  must 
have  been  actuated  by  the  fear  that  perfect  creatures 
might  become  as  powerful  as  himself,  and  such  a  feel- 
ing cannot  be  reconciled  with  the  idea  of  a  perfect 
God.  But  if  the  perfect  Deity  did  not  create  the 
world,  how  came  it  into  being  ?  The  answer  is,  an 
evil  spirit  must  have  created  it.  On  the  subject  of  the 
existence  of  two  principles,  a  schism  took  place  in  the 
sect  at  an  early  period.  The  original  Cathari  main- 
tainqfl,  that  the  evil  spirit  is  as  absolute  and  eternal 
as  the  good;  the  new  party  held,  that  the  evil  spirit 
was  a  created  being,  who  became  evil  by  his  own 
free-will,  and  that  he  will  ultimately  be  overcome  and 
destroyed.  We  shall  examine  only  the  first  of  these 
systems,  as  the  one  more  commonly  received.  The 
other  never  made  many  proselytes,  partly  because  the 


310      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

absolute  ditheism  of  the  primitive  Cathari  was  firmly 
established  when  the  new  system  was  first  proposed, 
and  partly  because  the  moral  principles,  the  mode  of 
worship,  and  the  clerical  organization  were  precisely 
the  same  for  both  parties. 

The  primitive  Cathari  founded,  as  we  have  said, 
their  belief  in  two  supreme  spirits  on  the  supposed 
impossibility  of  an  imperfect  world  being  the  work  of 
a  perfect  God.  They  did  not  fail  to  back  their  asser- 
tion by  scriptural  quotations.  All  the  passages  allud- 
ing to  the  opposition  between  the  flesh  and  the  spirit, 
between  God  and  the  world,  were  brought  to  bear  on 
their  theory.  The  evil  spirit,  then,  in  their  system,  is 
the  creator  of  all  things  visible.  He  presides  over 
them  and  maintains  them.  The  invisible  world,  the 
world  of  spirits,  is  the  work  of  the  perfect  God.  It  is 
inhabited  by  celestial  beings  composed  of  a  soul  and  a 
spiritual  body.  The  opposition  between  these  two  di- 
vinities and  these  two  creations  is  eternal.  Each  of 
these  Gods  has  his  revelation.  The  Old  Testament  is 
the  revelation  of  the  evil  spirit ;  that  of  the  good  is 
to  be  found  in  the  New  Testament.  The  examples 
drawn  from  the  two  books  of  the  Bible  to  illustrate 
their  system  are  too  numerous  to  be  cited.  The  fol- 
lowing, however,  may  give  an  idea  of  the  value  of 
their  reasoning  on  this  point.  The  God  of  th^  Old 
Testament,  say  they,  created  a  man  and  a  woman ; 
and  in  the  New  Testament  it  is  said,  '  there  is  neither 
male  nor  female,  but  ye  are  all  one  in  Christ  Jesus.' 
Jehovah  says:  'I  will  put  enmity  between  thee  and  the 
woman;'  the  God  of  the  New  Testament  wishes,  on 
the  contrary,  to  reconcile  all  things  unto  himself.    The 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      311 

God  of  the  Old  Testament  curses;  the  God  of  the 
New  blesses.  The  first  repents  of  what  he  has  done; 
consequently,  what  he  has  done  is  bad;  the  second  'is 
the  Author  of  every  good  and  perfect  gift.' 

Such  were  the  reasons  on  which  they  founded  their 
belief  that  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  are  two  dis- 
tinct revelations.  Moses,  in  their  6pinion,  received  his 
instructions  from  the  spirit  of  evil,  and  was  himself  a 
juggler  and  an  impostor.  He  is  condemned  to  eternal 
suffering  for  having  obeyed  the  orders  of  his  master, 
and  for  having  commanded  his  people  to  wage  war 
against  their  enemies.  All  the  other  writers  of  the 
Old  covenant  are  also  reproved,  as  it  is  written,  '  for  as 
many  as  are  of  the  work  of  the  law  are  under  the 
curse.'  The  consequence  to  be  derived  from  this 
absolute  distinction  between  the  two  revelations  was 
inevitable.  As  the  Old  Testament  was  the  work  of  the 
Devil,  its  laws  were  not  to  be  obeyed.  St.  Paul  him- 
self has  said,  *A  new  covenant  has  made  the  first  old. 
Now  that  which  decayeth  and  waxes  old  is  ready  to 
vanish  away.' 

If  it  is  admitted  that  the  universe  is  administered  by 
two  distinct  divinities,  the  one  of  whom  creates  what  is 
material,  and  the  other  what  is  spiritual,  the  question 
naturally  arises,  how  does  it  happen  that  human  souls 
have  fallen  under  the  dominion  of  evil .-'  To  this  the 
answer  is,  that  the  heavenly  souls,  which  as  we  have 
seen,  were  created  by  the  perfect  God,  were  induced 
to  descend  upon  earth  by  the  machinations  of  the  Evil 
One.  At  the  same  time,  the  Cathari  absolutely  deny 
free-will ;  for,  say  they,  if  the  perfect  God  had  created 
souls  endowed  with  the  liberty  of  doing  good  or  evil, 


312        SCHMIDT^S   HISTORY    OF    THE    ALBIGENSES. 

he  would  himself  be  the  author  of  evil,  which  is  im- 
possible. How  then  are  these  two  doctrines  to  be 
reconciled  ?  By  the  following  myth.  The  spirit  of 
evil,  weary  of  seeing  the  perfect  God  reigning  over  a 
holy  and  happy  people,  and  envying  them  their  fe- 
licity, penetrated  into  heaven  under  the  form  of  an 
angel  of  light,  and  persuaded  the  heavenly  souls  to 
follow  him  upon  earth.  Deceived  by  the  form  which 
he  had  assumed,  they  consented  to  follow  him  and  to 
abandon  their  God.  When  the  evil  spirit  had  thus  ac- 
quired dominion  over  these  souls,  he  confined  them 
in  earthly  bodies.  In  thus  uniting  them  to  matter,  he 
thought  to  prevent  for  ever  their  return  to  heaven. 

This  myth,  on  which  the  Cathari  depended  for  solv- 
ing the  difficulty  which  arose  from  their  negation  of 
free-will  and  their  belief  in  the  fall  of  these  heavenly 
souls,  in  fact  explains  nothing.  If  the  inhabitants  of 
heaven  did  not  possess  the  liberty  of  choosing  between 
good  and  evil,  how  can  it  be  said  that  they  consented 
to  follow  the  Demon  to  the  earth?  To  say  that  they 
were  deceived  by  this  spirit  of  darkness,  does  not  solve 
the  difficulty,  for  their  consent  to  leave  their  celes- 
tial abode  implies  the  power  of  refusing  to  do  so,  and 
consequently  the  liberty  of  choice.  The  weakness  of 
the  whole  system  is  strongly  exemplified  here.  If  it 
were  true  that,  originally,  all  souls  were  perfect,  be- 
cause created  by  a  perfect  God;  and  if^on  the  other 
band,  all  evil  was  derived  from  an  evil  cause,  —  if  the 
principle  of  Aristotle,  on  which  the  Cathari  founded 
their  belief  in  the  existence  of  two  supreme  creators, 
contrariorum  contraria  sunt  principia,  —  were  admis- 
sible to  such  an  extent,   the  inevitable  consequence 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      313 

would  be  that,  between  the  two  creations,  tliere  could 
never  be  any  contact.  Unable  to  deny  that  such  a 
contact  really  exists,  the  Cathari  were  obliged  to  main- 
tain that  the  souls  of  men  were  those  of  fallen  angels ; 
and  as  they  denied  their  free-will,  they  were  led  to  im- 
agine the  absurd  fable  which  we  have  mentioned,  the 
absurdity  of  which  is  not  a  little  increased  by  the  fact 
that  it  does  not  at  all  answer  the  purpose  for  which  it 
was  intended. 

This  view  of  the  xjrigin  of  the  human  race  naturally 
led  the  Cathari  to  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  metempsy- 
chosis. As  God  takes  no  part  in  the  creation  of 
evil  spirits,  all  the  souls  in  the  world  are  the  same 
which  followed  Lucifer  from  heaven.  They  have  con- 
sequently passed  through  many  bodies.  Some  of  the 
adherents  of  the  sect  went  so  far  as  to  state  through 
how  many  bodies  each  soul  must  pass.  As  these 
souls,  however,  were  created  perfect,  it  is  impossible 
that  they  should  remain  for  ever  on  earth,  which  the 
Cathari  regarded  as  the  domain  of  the  Devil  and  the 
only  hell  which  exists.  All  will  be  ultimately  rescued 
from  the  power  of  the  Evil  One ;  all  will  be  saved, 
and  enjoy  the  immortal  life  for  which  they  were  cre- 
ated. This  belief  in  the  redemption  of  all  mankind 
was  so  firmly  adopted  by  the  sect,  that  they  regarded 
the  doctrine  of  predestination,  as  laid  down  by  Augus- 
tine, as  a  monstrous  error,  contrary  to  all  our  notions 
of  the  goodness  and  justice  of  God.* 

*  An  adherent  of  the  sect  is  said  to  have  made  use  of  the 
following  language  with  regard  to  this  doctrine  of  Augustine  : 
<  Quod  si  teneret  ilium  Deum,  qui  de  mille  hominlbus  ab  eo 
factis,  unum  salvaret  et  omnes  alios  damnaret,  ipsum  derum- 


314      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

In  a  system  which  taught  the  necessity  of  the  sal- 
vation of  all  men,  the  presence  of  a  Saviour  would 
seem  to  be  wholly  unnecessary.  But  the  sect  attrib- 
uted a  great  work  to  Jesus  Christ.  After  having  per- 
mitted the  souls  which  he  had  created  perfect,  to 
remain  many  thousand  years  under  the  power  of  the 
demon  in  order  to  expiate  their  guilt,  the  perfect  God 
resolved  to  put  a  limit  to  the  triumphs  of  his  adversary 
by  sending  Jesus  Christ  upon  earth.  The  Cathari  reject- 
ed the  Catholic  view  of  the  nature  of  Christ.  They 
regarded  him  as  a  being  created  by  the  Father,  but 
superior  to  all  other  created  beings.  The  object  of  his 
mission  on  earth  was  to  remind  the  captive  souls  which 
dwelt  there  of  their  celestial  origin,  to  teach  them  their 
error  with  regard  to  the  God  in  whom  they  had  until 
then  believed,  to  show  them  the  means  by  which  they 
could  return  to  the  true  and  perfect  Deity,  and,  finally, 
to  found  a  Church,  in  which  should  be  received  all 
those  who  accept  his  revelations  and  obey  his  laws. 
As  the  bodies  of  men  are  the  work  of  the  evil  spirit, 
and  as  the  perfect  spirit  of  Christ  could  not  dwell  in 
such  a  body,  the  sect  believed  that  the  Saviour  had 
come  into  the  world  with  the  celestial  body  with  which 
souls  are  invested  in  heaven.  It  was  in  this  spiritual 
body  alone  that  he  became  incarnate,  and  he  appeared 
in  the  world  without  having  acquired  a  single  material 
principle.  Hence  his  language  to  his  supposed  mother : 
'  Woman  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee  ? '     The  body  in 

peret  et  dilaceraret  unguibus  et  dentihus  tanquam  perfidum,  et 
reputabat  ipsum  esse  falsum  et  perfidum,  et  spucret  in  facie m 
ejus.'    Acts  of  the  Inquisitioa  of  Carcassonne,  1247. 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      315 

which  Christ  appeared  on  eartli  had  the  appearance  of 
humanity,  but  it  had  no  wants.  If  he  ate,  or  drank, 
or  slept,  it  was  in  order  not  to  reveal  his  true  nature 
to  the  adversary,  from  whom  he  had  come  to  rescue 
the  souls  of  men. 

With  regard  to  the  miracles  wrought  by  Jesus,  they 
applied  to  them  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  '  The  letter 
killeth,  but  the  spirit  giveth  life,'  and  interpreted  them 
all  spiritually.  The  blind,  to  whom  Christ  restored 
their  sight,  are  those  blinded  by  sin;  the  tomb,  from 
which  he  called  forth  Lazarus,  is  the  darkness  in  which 
the  sinning  soul  is  buried  ;  the  bread  which  he  dis- 
tributed to  the  multitude,  is  the  word  of  life  ;  the  storm 
which  he  subdued,  is  the  storm  of  earthly  passions. 
They  reproached  the  Catholics  bitterly  for  believing 
that  Christ  could  work  visible  miracles. 

We  have  said  that,  in  this  system,  one  of  the  princi- 
pal objects  of  the  mission  of  Christ  was  to  found  a 
Church,  by  admission  into  which  men  are  saved.  As 
it  might  have  been  objected  that  there  was  a  contra- 
diction between  maintaining  that  all  men  are  saved, 
and  at  the  same  time  that,  in  order  to  be  saved,  it  is 
necessary  to  enter  the  Church,  they  obviated  the  diffi- 
culty by  saying  that,  by  the  necessity  of  becoming 
members  of  the  Catharist  Church,  they  merely  implied 
that  the  adoption  of  this  faith  hastened  the  moment 
when  the  souls  of  men  should  once  more  return  to 
their  celestial  abode.  It  might  also  have  been  objected, 
that  thousands  of  men  had  died  before  the  Catharist 
doctrines  were  known.  Were  they  to  be  eternally 
miserable  ?  This  objection  they  answered  by  refer- 
ring to  their  doctrine  of  the  transmigration  of  souls. 


316      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

The  souls  of  those  who  hnd  died  before  the  coming  of 
Christ  passed  through  different  bodies,  until,  at  last, 
by  being  received  into  the  Catharist  Church,  they  were 
reconciled  to  God.  In  taking  such  a  view  of  the  sal- 
vation of  mankind,  it, will  be  seen  that  death  could 
not  have  the  same  meaning  for  all  men.  To  those 
who  have  accomplished  their  expiation  by  being  ad- 
mitted to  the  Church,  it  is  the  termination  of  their 
sufferings  in  this  world ;  freed  from  the  shackles  of 
matter,  their  souls  again  participate  in  the  glory  and 
happiness  for  which  they  were  created.  For  those, 
on  the  contrary,  who  have  not  accomplished  their 
period  of  penance,  death  is  but  the  passage  from  one 
body  to  another.  The  heavenly  souls,  which  had  been 
seduced  by  the  evil  spirit,  had  abandoned  their  celes- 
tial bodies  before  descending  upon  earth.  When  they 
are  again  relieved  from  their  bondage,  they  will  take 
possession  of  these  bodies.  This  was  what  the  Cathari 
understood  by  the  resurrection  of  the  body. 

If  we  look  only  to  the  peculiar  tenets  of  the  Ca- 
thari, considered  as  matter  of  mere  speculation,  it 
seems  difficult  to  understand  how  so  many  Protestant 
writers  should  have  claimed  them  as  brethren,  and 
almost  asserted  their  orthodoxy.  Their  system,  how- 
ever, was  practically  established,  and,  as  often  hap- 
pens, the  practice  was  much  better  than  what  might  be 
legitimately  inferred  from  the  doctrine.  We  cannot 
but  admire  the  purity  and  holiness  of  the  lives  of  these 
heretics,  and  wc  wonder  at  the  simple  and  spiritual 
form  of  worship  which  they  established  at  a  time  when 
the  Catholic  Church  was  displaying  the  full  magnifi- 
cence of  its  ritual,  and  cumbering  the  simplicity  of 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      317 

Cliristianity  with  the  invocation  of  saints  and  the  expo- 
sition of  relics  and  images. 

The  whole  practical  tendency  of  the  system  which 
we  have  sketched  must  have  been  to  free  men  from 
all  attachment  to  the  things  of  this  earth.  The  world 
was  the  work  of  the  spirit  of  evil.  The  only  way  of 
resisting  sin,  and  effecting  a  total  change  of  life,  was 
to  enter  the  Church.  Those  who  were  admitted  to  the 
Church  received  the  sacrament  called  the  consolamen- 
turn,  and  were  then  considered  as  freed  from  all  im- 
■  purity,  and  they  received  the  name  of  perfect.  After 
they  had  attained  this  desirable  condition,  they  did  not 
pass  their  lives,  as  might  have  been  expected,  in  idle 
meditation,  awaiting  the  moment  when  their  souls 
should  be  permitted  to  cast  off  the  bodies  in  which  they 
had  been  confined.  They  went  from  place  to  place, 
preaching  and  giving  instruction,  and  also  administer- 
ing the  consolamentum  to  those  whom  they  deemed 
worthy.  '  We  lead,'  said  one  of  them,  when  sum- 
moned before  the  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition  at  Carcas- 
sonne, '  a  hard  and  wandering  life ;  we  flee  from  place 
to  place,  like  sheep  in  the  midst  of  wolves  ;  we  suffer 
persecution  like  the  apostles  and  martyrs,  and  yet  our 
life  is  holy  and  austere.  It  is  passed  in  abstinence,  in 
prayer,  and  in  labors  which  nothing  can  interrupt ;  but 
to  us  every  thing  is  easy,  for  we  no  longer  belong  to 
the  world.'  Their  life  might  well  be  called  austere. 
The  perfect  were  to  take  vows  of  poverty  and  chastity, 
and  never  to  resort  to  arms  even  in  self-defence. 
They  were  to  avoid  taking  the  life  of  an  animal,  for 
they  held  that  the  souls  of  men  sometimes  passed  into 
the  bodies  of  animals.     They  were  to  abstain  from 


318      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

meat,  milk,  eggs,  and  cheese,  because  all  animal  food 
is  the  work  of  the  Devil.  Vegetables,  fruits,  bread, 
the  oil  of  olives,  and  wine,  furnished  their  repasts. 
They  believed  that  no  sin  was  greater  than  marriage, 
which  they  would  not  distinguish  from  adultery  or 
concubinage.  They  founded  this  doctrine  on  the 
words  of  our  Saviour,  'The  children  of  this  world 
marry  and  are  given  in  marriage ;  but  they  which 
shall  be  accounted  worthy  to  obtain  that  world,  and 
the  resurrection  from  the  dead,  neither  marry  nor  are 
given  in  marriage.'  The  perfect  Cathari  were  gen-^ 
erally  clothed  in  black,  and  carried  under  their  cloak 
a  leathern  pouch  containing  a  copy  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, which  they  never  laid  aside.  They  had  peculiar 
signs  by  which  they  recognized  each  other ;  and  even 
the  houses  in  which  they  lived  were  marked  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  be  easily  discovered  by  the  initiated. 
When  they  travelled,  they  were  received  every  where 
with  the  greatest  kindness.  If  they  stopped  in  a  vil- 
lage or  a  castle,  they  were  waited  upon  by  the  inhabi- 
tants. Even  the  most  powerful  noblemen  deemed  it 
an  honor  to  serve  them  at  table. 

These  honors  compensated  but  poorly,  however,  for 
the  hardships  and  privations  which  they  were  obliged 
to  undergo,  and  the  number  of  the  perfect  was  never 
very  large.  But  the  number  of  believers  was  very 
considerable.  These  who  were  called  credentes  were 
not  subjected  to  the  same  rigorous  discipline  as  the 
perfect.  They  might  marry,  make  war,  and  eat  of 
whatever  food  nature  afforded,  provided  they  confessed 
these  sins  to  the  perfect.  But  unless  they  received  the 
consolamentum    before  they  died,  they  could   not  be 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      319 

immediately  saved.  The  consol amentum  was  therefore 
frequently  administered  to  the  credentes,  on  their 
death-bed.  This  holy  rite  was  not,  however,  indis- 
criminately administered  to  all  those  who  demanded  it. 
An  attempt  was  made  first  to  ascertain  whether  the 
dying  person  demanded  it  from  conviction,  or  only  to 
make  sure  of  heaven  by  this  means.  Thus,  we  read 
that  it  was  refused  to  a  woman  on  the  ground  that  it 
would  be  difficult  for  her  to  adopt  the  strict  life  of  the 
perfect^  in  case  she  recovered.  In  some  instances,  for 
fear  that  those  who  had  received  the  rite  might  again 
fall  into  sin  if  they  recovered,  the  perfect  ordered  them 
to  allow  themselves  to  die  of  hunger.  Horrible  as  this 
may  seem,  it  was  but  a  natural  consequence  of  the 
whole  Catharist  system.  It  is  singular,  indeed,  that 
suicide  should  not  have  become  a  common  occurrence 
amongst  its  adherents.  It  could  certainly  not  be  re- 
garded as  a  crime  to  destroy  that  body,  which  was  the 
work  of  the  spirit  of  darkness,  and  only  impeded  the 
progress  of  the  soul. 

From  what  has  already  been  said,  it  is  evident  that, 
like  many  reformers  of  a  later  day,  the  Cathari  were 
no  less  intolerant  than  their  persecutors.  Their  church 
was  the  only  true  church,  out  of  which  there  was  no 
salvation  ;  they  were  the  descendants  of  the  early 
apostles,  the  people  of  God  upon  earth,  for  their  church 
alone  was  composed  of  none  but  perfect  members. 
How,  indeed,  demanded  they,  could  the  Catholic 
church,  which  counted  among  its  members  so  many 
men  abandoned  to  every  vice,  how  could  it  be  the  "  glo- 
rious church'  of  which  St.  Paul  speaks, '  having  neither 
spot  nor  wrinkle,  nor  any  such  thing,  but  being  holy 


320      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

and  without  blemish  ? '  But  their  church  represented 
the  Christian  church  in  its  primitive  simplicity.  They 
believed,  also,  and  in  this  respect  they  seem  to  have 
erred  less,  that  their  worship  was  of  the  same  char- 
acter with  that  of  the  early  Christians.  The  more 
spiritual  the  mode  of  worship,  the  more  they  believed 
it  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  instructions  of  the  Saviour. 
To  adore  God,  no  particular  place  seemed  to  them 
necessary,  no  vain  and  useless  ceremonies  need  be 
observed.  In  those  places  where  they  enjoyed  the 
most  liberty,  however,  they  had  erected  edifices  for 
the  purposes  of  worship.  In  them  there  were  no  or- 
naments. A  bench  or  table,  covered  with  a  white 
cloth,  took  the  place  of  an  altar.  On  this  the  New 
Testament  was  always  open  at  the  first  chapter  of  the 
Gospel  according  to  John.  No  bells  admonished  the 
faithful  of  the  hour  of  worship,  for  they  regarded  the 
bells  which  had  so  long  summoned  men  to  what  they 
deemed  an  idolatrous  worship,  as  an  invention  of  the 
devil.  The  forms  of  worship  were  as  simple  as  the 
buildings  in  which  it  was  celebrated.  The  service  was 
performed  either  by  a  minister  of  the  sect,  or  by  one  of 
the  perfect.  It  commenced  by  the  reading  of  passages 
from  the  New  Testament,  whicn  were  afterwards  ex- 
plained according  to  the  doctrines  of  the  sect ;  and  this 
was  followed  by  a  benediction.  Afterwards,  the  whole 
assembly  joined  in  the  Lord's  prayer,  the  only  prayer 
which  they  ever  used. 

The  Cathari  only  recognized  two  sacraments,  the 
consolamentum,  and  the  benediction  of  bread,  or  com- 
munion. The  first  of  these,  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
was  of  such  vast  importance,  consisted  merely  in  a 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      321 

minister,  or  one  of  the  perfect^  laying  his  hands  on  the 
disciple,  who  wished  to  be  admitted  to  a  full  commun- 
ion with  the  church,  and  invoking  the  blessing  of  God 
upon  him.     It  held  the  place  of  the  Catholic  baptism. 
It  was  necessary  to  prepare  by  abstinence  and  prayer 
for  this  solemn  rite.     For  three  days  previous  to  the 
ceremony,  the  candidate  was  not  to  partake  of  any 
food.     When  he  was  thus  prepared,  he  was  introduced 
in  silence  into  the  sanctuary,  where  the  worship  was 
performed.     There,  the  minister,  holding  in  his  hands 
the  Testament,  instructed  the  neophyte  in  the  tenets 
of  the  sect,  informing  him  of  the  austere  life  which  he 
would  have  to  lead  when  once  admitted  into  the  true 
Church,  warning  him  at  the  same  time  to  beware  of 
the  Church  of  Rome,  and  to  persevere  unto  death  in 
the  new  faith,  by  which  alone  he  could  attain  to  im- 
mortal life.     The  neophyte  then  demanded  and  re- 
ceived  the   benediction   in  the    usual   form,  and   the 
minister  handed  him  the  Testament  to  kiss,  and  finally 
placed  it  on  his  head,  whilst  the  other  perfect  who. 
were  present  advanced  and  touched  him,  thus  signify- 
ing that  he  was  now  their  brother.     The  ceremony 
closed  with  the  usual  church  service. 

As  to  the  other  sacrament  of  the  Albigenses,  the 
benediction  or  breaking  of  bread,  it  took  place  at  first 
at  every  meal  at  which  one  of  the  perfect  was  present. 
Before  sitting  down  to  the  table,  one  of  them  took 
some  bread,  and  breaking  it,  handed  it  to  those  who 
were  present,  saying,  '  May  the  grace  of  our  Lord 
be  with  you.'  But  when  the  persecutions  against  the 
sect  commenced,  this  practice  was  limited  to  the  great 
religious  festivals  at  Easter  and  Christmas.  This  cere- 
21 


322      Schmidt's  histobt  of  the  albigrnses. 

mony,  as  may  be  conjectured  from  the  whole  Catharist 
system,  was  viewed  only  as  a  symbol  of  the  union  of 
the  members  of  the  early  Christian  church.  To  these 
reformers,  as  to  many  of  those  of  a  later  day,  the 
bread  with  which  they  communed  underwent  no  mys- 
terious clmnge  by  the  words  of  the  minister.  They 
did  not  interpret  literally  the  words  of  the  Saviour, 
*  This  is  my  body ; '  but  considered  the  doctrine  of 
transubstantiation  as  highly  blasphemous.  *  The  priests,' 
said  they,  '  make  gods  of  paste,  and  afterwards  eat 
them !  How  can  the  body  of  Christ,  that  spiritual  body, 
which  had  only  been  manifested  in  the  world  as  a  real 
body,  be  contained  in  a  piece  of  bread,  which,  like  all 
things  material,  is  the  work  of  the  Demon? ' 

In  spite  of  the  virtues  practised  by  the  Cathari,  they 
did  not,  any  more  than  the  early  Christians,  escape 
the  calumnies  of  their  enemies.  The  power  they  as- 
cribed to  the  spirit  of  evil,  and  the  mystery  with  which 
they  assembled  to  worship,  led  the  ignorant  people  to 
believe  that  they  adored  the  Devil,  and  to  imagine  tl»at 
their  nocturnal  meetings  were  consecrated  to  every 
species  of  wickedness.  They  were  accused  of  holding 
the  most  absurd  and  licentious  doctrines.  There  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  any  foundation  for  such  accu- 
sations, and,  indeed,  many  of  the  Catholic  writers  of 
their  day  cannot  refrain  from  rendering  a  homage  to 
their  virtues,  and  even  cite  their  zeal  for  the  propaga- 
tion of  llieir  faith  as  an  example  to  be  followed  by  all 
Christians.  They  were,  unquestionably,  most  ardently 
attached  to  their  church,  and  willingly  encountered 
every  danger  to  extend  its  dominion.  They  com- 
passed Europe  for  the  purpose  of  making  proselytes. 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.     323 

Sometimes  they  went  about  openly  preaching  their 
doctrines  ;  at  other  periods,  they  would  visit,  as  mer- 
chants, the  great  towns,  in  which  annual  fairs  were 
held,  in  the  hope  of  gaining  over  many  souls  from  the 
large  concourse  of  men  from  every  country  which 
assembled  at  these  periods.  Nor  were  their  efforts 
unsuccessful.  While  their  preaching  was  listened  to 
with  delight,  their  simple  and  austere  life  deeply  im- 
pressed those  whom  they  encountered  in  their  travels ; 
and  many  were  induced  to  imitate  their  example,  that 
they  might  share  with  them  the  glories  of  eternal  life. 

We 'have  said  that  Innocent  III.  was  no  sooner 
raised  to  the  pontificate  than  he  determined  to  arrest 
the  progress  of  this  sect,  and,  if  possible,  to  erase  its 
name  from  the  memory  of  man.  His  first  step  was 
to  direct  a  letter  to  the  archbishops  and  bishops  of 
southern  France,  in  which  he  said,  that,  owing  to  the 
rapid  growth  of  the  heresy,  he  had  determined  to  send 
Reinerius  and  Guide,  two  men  of  much  learning,  as 
his  legates  to  Languedoc,  to  endeavor  to  bring  back 
the  erring  to  the  true  church.  To  these  two  legates 
he  gave  full  powers.  Their  first  duty  would  be  to  ex- 
communicate the  heretics,  and  to  confiscate  their  pos- 
sessions. If  they  did  not  then  yield,  the  legates  were 
to  call  upon  the  noblemen  of  the  country  to  take  up 
arms  against  them.  Reinerius  and  Guide  effected 
nothing;  and  in  I'^OS,  the  Pope  appointed  two  Cister- 
cian monks,  Raoul  and  Pierre  de  Castelnau,  to  be 
his  legates.  The  unlimited  authority  with  which  he 
clothed  these  emissaries  rather  retarded  than  favored 
his  plans ;  for  the  clergy,  irritated  by  the  arrogant  bear- 
ing which  they  assumed,  refused  to  act  in  concert  with 


324      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

them.  Arnauld  Amalric,  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  was  joined 
with  them;  but  fearing  tliat  even  this  powerful  aux- 
iliary would  not  enable  them  to  carry  out  his  views, 
Innocent  ordered  them  to  preach  a  crusade  against  the 
heretics,  and  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Philip  Augustus,  in 
which  he  represented  to  that  monarch,  that  the  time 
had  now  come  for  the  spiritual  and  temporal  powers  to 
unite  for  the  defence  of  the  church.  He  declared  it 
to  be  Philip's  duty,  as  one  of  the  most  powerful  princes 
of  Christendom,  to  use  his  authority  against  the  here- 
tics, and  that  if  he  was  unable  himself  to  command  an 
army,  he  should  send  his  son  in  his  place.  Philip  was 
not  moved  by  this  language.  He  was  far  too  prudent  to 
embark  in  an  undertaking,  the  issue  of  which  seemed 
then  so  uncertain. 

Meanwhile,  Foulques  of  Marseilles  had  been  ap- 
pointed bishop  of  Toulouse.  The  youth  of  this  prelate 
had  been  passed  amidst  the  licentious  pleasures  of  the 
Troubadours.  He  was  himself  a  proficient  in  the  gay 
science,  and  by  his  songs  had  charmed  many  a  fair 
lady.  He  abandoned  all  this  and  entered  a  convent, 
where,  in  appearance,  he  renounced  the  world ;  but  in 
truth,  he  was  still  pursuing  self-gratification :  he  had 
only  changed  the  object  of  his  passion.  'He  had  de- 
voted,' says  a  French  writer,  '  one  half  of  his  life  to 
gallantry,  he  gave  up  the  other  without  hesitation  to  the 
cause  of  tyranny,  murder,  and  plunder.''  He  proved 
a  powerful  auxiliary  to  the  legates  in  their  work  of 
persecution.  The  legates  were  also  joined  by  twelve 
Cistercian  monks.  Thus  prepared,  they  set  out,  clad 
in  sumptuous  attire,  and  attended  by  a  splendid  retinue, 
to  preach  the  gospel  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      325 

throughout  the  country.  The  people  murmured.  One 
day,  these  luxurious  apostles  chanced  to  meet  Diego 
d'Azebes,  Bishop  of  Osma,  and  Dominic,  one  of  his 
canons,  who  were  just  returning  from  Rome.  The 
Bishop  was  astonished  at  such  indecent  display  on  the 
part  of  Christian  missionaries,  and  seriously  remonstra- 
ted with  them.  '  It  is  not  thus,'  he  said,  '  but  on  foot, 
that  you  should  march  against  the  heretics.'  The  Cis- 
tercians followed  his  advice,  and  he  and  his  companion 
became  their  active  coadjutors. 

Thus  the  Bishop  of  Osma,  and  Dominic,  whose 
name  was  afterwards  to  acquire  a  great  celebrity,  be- 
gan to  preach  against  the  Albigenses.  They  went  to- 
gether from  place  to  place,  every  where  entering  into 
theological  discussions  with  the  heretics,  and  endeavor- 
ing to  convince  them  of  their  errors.  However  easy 
it  might  be  for  the  Catholics  to  overcome  the  Cathari 
in  argument,  they  made  no  progress  in  converting 
them,  and  still  less  in  expelling  thern  from  the  country. 
In  those  places  where  the  heretics  were  most  numer- 
ous, when  the  Catholic  inhabitants  were  asked  why 
they  did  not  drive  them  out,  they  replied,  *We  cannot; 
we  have  grown  up  with  them,  and  we  l^now  the  purity, 
the  sanctity,  of  their  lives.'  The  people  heaped  insults 
on  the  missionaries.  They  threw  dirt  at  the  Bishop 
and  at  Dominic,  and  spat  upon  them.  The  bishop 
was  so  irritated  that  he  called  loudly  upon  the  Lord  '  to 
let  His  hand  fall  heavily  upon  the  heretics,  as  chastise- 
ment alone  could  open  their  eyes.'  Shortly  afterwards 
he  returned  to  Spain.  The  monks  who  had  come 
from  Citeaux,  and  who  now  began  to  despair  of  success, 
went  back  to  their  convent,  and  Pierre  de  Castelnau 


826        SCHMIDT^S   HISTOBY    OF    THE    ALBIGENSES. 

and  Dominic  were  left  alone  to  conduct  the  work  of 
persecution. 

We  liave  already  said  that  Raymond,  Count  of  Tou- 
louse, one  of  the  most  powerful  noblemen  in  the  south 
of  France,  favored  the  heretics.  From  an  early  age 
he  had  associated  with  them,  and  when  he  succeeded 
his  father,  in  1194,  he  openly  protected  them,  and  al- 
ways retained  a  number  of  the  perfect  at  his  court  to 
administer  the  consolamentum  to  him  in  case  he  should 
be  suddenly  taken  ill.  The  Pope  endeavored  to  in-, 
duce  him  to  banish  the  Cathari  from  his  dominions ; 
and  when  he  steadfastly  refused,  he  was  solemnly  ex- 
communicated. At  the  same  time,  the  legate  excited 
tlie  neighboring  barons  to  make  war  on  Raymond,  who, 
fearing  an  invasion  of  his  territory,  now  promised 
submission  to  the  Pope.  But  this  reconciliation  with 
Rome  did  not  last  long.  Pierre  de  Castelnau  publicly 
upbraided  him  for  his  want  of  faith  in  not  expelling 
the  heretics,  and  again  excommunicated  him.  The 
Count  lost  his  temper,  replied  angrily,  and  threatened 
Pierre  with  death.  This  imprudent  speech  was  eager- 
ly caught  at  by  one  of  the  Count's  attendants,  who 
pursued  the  legate,  and  killed  him  as  he  was  about  to 
embark  in  a  boat  on  the  Rhone. 

The  murder  of  the  papal  legate  was  the  signal  for 
the  crusade  which  had  been  so  long  meditated.  The 
Pope,  exasperated  at  so  daring  a  violation  of  his  pontifi- 
cal authority,  called  upon  the  princes  of  Christendom  to 
avenge  the  desecrated  majesty  of  the  Church.  He  im- 
mediately ordered  the  bishops  of  Provence  to  preach  a 
crusade  against  the  unhappy  Count  and  his  heretic  sub- 
jects, who  were  worse  tlian  the  infidel  Saracens.     *  And 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      327 

as,'  added  he  in  his  circular  to  the  bishops, '  according 
to  the  holy  Fathers,  it  is  not  necessary  for  one  to  keep 
his  faith  with  those  who  do  not  keep  theirs  towards 
God,  or  who  have  separated  from  the  communion  of 
the  faithful,  we,  in  virtue  of  our  apostolic  authority,  re- 
lease from  their  allegiance  all  those  who  think  they  owe 
obedience  to  the  Count,  and  we  permit  any  Catholic 
to  pursue  him,  and  to  occupy  and  take  possession  of  his 
dominions.' 

The  king  of  France  and  his  barons  were  also  entreat- 
ed to  enter  without  delay  upon  this  holy  war  against 
the  excommunicated  Count.  The  abbot  Arnauld,  and 
Navarre  d'Aix,  the  new  papal  legate,  went,  preaching 
the  crusade  throughout  the  country.  To  those  who 
should  enlist  in  the  sacred  cause,  Innocent  promised 
the  same  indulgences  as  to  those  who  visited  the  Holy 
Land.  Many  were  even  allowed  to  change  their  vow 
of  an  expedition  against  the  Saracens  for  one  against  the 
Albigenses.  It  may  readily  be  conceived  how  many 
were  glad  to  avail  themselves  of  so  favorable  an  oppor- 
tunity of  fulfilling  a  religious  duty  without  making  a 
dangerous  voyage  across  the  sea,  and  thus  to  expiate  a 
life  of  guilt  and  crime.  Instead  of  those  distant  expe- 
ditions, in  which  so  many  Christians  perished  by  the 
arm  of  the  infidel,  or  by  famine  and  sickness,  an  en- 
terprise now  oflTered  itself,  in  which,  to  use  the  words 
of  the  priests  who  exhorted  the  barons  to  take  up  arms, 
'  the  labor  was  but  small,  the  distance  short,  and  yet 
the  recompense  eternal.'  It  must  not  be  supposed, 
however,  that  all  those  who  enlisted  were  actuated  by 
such  pious  motives.  Many  joined  the  army  from  the 
hope  of  rich  plunder ;  others,  from  the  north  of  France, 


328      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

were  actuated  by  a  jealousy  toward  the  south,  a 
jealousy  so  strong  that  Innocent  did  not  fail  to  discover 
it  and  to  avail  himself  of  it.  Thus  a  large  army  was 
formed. 

Raymond,  to  whose  wavering  and  cowardly  bearing 
on  this  occasion  may  perhaps  be  ascribed  the  success 
of  the  crusade,  was  so  alarmed  at  the  approach  of  this 
powerful  body,  that  he  asked  to  be  reconciled  to  the 
Church,  and  even  consented  to  assume  the  cross  him- 
self. Innocent,  acting  according  to  his  favorite  maxim, 
that  dissimulation  is  allowable  towards  heretics,  con- 
sented to  receive  the  Count  once  more  into  the  bosom  of 
the  Church,  rightly  thinking  that  it  would  be  easier  for 
the  heretics  with  their  most  powerful  pro- 
tector enlisted  on  his  side.  He  reflected,  too,  that  when 
the  other  barons  who  favored  the  heresy  were  reduced, 
it  would  be  far  less  difficult  to  break  with  Raymond 
and  plunge  him  in  irretrievable  ruin. 

It  was  in  the  Church  of  St.  Gilles,  where  the  remains 
of  Pierre  de  Castelnau  had  been  interred,  that  Ray- 
mond was  admitted  to  the  sacraments  of  the  church. 
There,  in  presence  of  some  twenty  bishops,  he  was 
obliged  to  take  a  solemn  oath  upon  the  Eucharist  and 
certain  holy  relics  to  persecute,  by  every  means  in  his 
power,  the  heretic  Albigenses.  He  was  then  stripped 
of  his  clothes,  and  a  priest  having  fastened  a  stole 
round  his  neck,  led  him  nine  times  round  the  church, 
scourging  him  all  the  while  with  a  whip.  After  this 
ceremony,  he  was  admitted  to  receive  absolution. 

Influenced  by  the  example  of  the  Count  de  Toulouse, 
his  nephew,  Raymond  Roger,  Viscount  of  Beziers,  who 
was  well  known  as  one  of  the  partisans  of  the  sect, 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.     329 

ofTered  to  make  his  peace  with  the  Church.  The  Pope 
refused  this,  as  he  thought  he  might  subdue  him  by 
other  means.  The  Viscount,  finding  that  no  other 
course  was  left  him,  immediately  prepared  for  war. 
Leaving  a  large  garrison  in  the  town  of  Beziers,  he 
himself  retired  to  Carcassonne,  where  he  made  every 
effort  to  impede  the  progress  of  the  invading  army. 
Meanwhile  the  crusaders,  clad  in  their  heavy  armor, 
but  wearing  on  their  breast  the  holy  sign  of  the  cross, 
and  carrying  in  their  hands  the  pilgrim  staff,  to  show 
in  what  a  sacred  cause  they  had  engaged,  were  ad- 
vancing under  the  command  of  Arnauld,  the  Abbot  of 
Citeaux,  through  the  valley  of  the  Ehone,  by  Lyons, 
Valence,  Montelimart,  and  Avignon.  At  Valence,  they 
were  met  by  the  Count  de  Toulouse,  who  now  com- 
pleted his  disgrace  by  actually  taking  up  arms  against 
his  persecuted  countymen,  whom  he  unquestionably 
favored  at  heart. 

On  the  twenty-second  of  July,  1209,  the  army  laid 
siege  to  the  town  of  Beziers.  Reginald  de  Montpey- 
roux,  bishop  of  the  city,  who  joined  the  crusaders, 
having  been  admitted  within  the  walls,  assembled  the 
inhabitants  in  the  church  of  St.  Nicaise,  and  exhorted 
them  to  yield  before  the  vengeance  of  God  and  the 
Church  should  fall  upon  them.  '  Go  and  tell  the  legate 
who  sent  you,'  was  their  reply,  '  that  our  city  is  strong 
and  good,  that  our  Lord  will  not  fail  to  assist  us  in  our 
present  misfortunes,  and  that,  before  we  would  be  guilty 
of  the  cowardly  act  which  you  demand  of  us,  we  would 
eat  our  own  children.'  The  bishop  then  returned  to 
the  army,  full  of  grief  at  the  ill  success  of  his  endeav- 
ors to  save  the  unhappy  inhabitants  from  their  fate. 


330      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

When  their  bold  reply  was  repeated  to  Arnauld,  he 
solemnly  declared  that  not  one  stone  in  the  city  should 
remain  on  another,  and  not  one  life  should  be  spared. 
This  promise  was  but  too  strictly  adhered  to.  The 
town  was  taken,  and  when  the  leaders  of  the  army 
asked  of  the  bloodthirsty  abbot  what  they  should  do, 
as  they  could  not  distinguish  the  heretics  and  the  Cath- 
olics;'Kill  them  all,'  was  the  reply;  'God  will  know 
His  own!'  Thus  was  perpetrated  one  of  the  most 
horrible  massacres  recorded  in  history.  Although  there 
exists  considerable  discrepancy  among  writers  as  to  the 
exact  number  of  persons  who  perished,  it  is  certain 
that  not  less  than  twenty  thousand  were  sacrificed  to 
the  blind  fury  of  fanaticism.  The  town  was  set  on 
fire  and  entirely  destroyed. 

From  BJziers  the  army  proceeded  to  Carcassonne, 
where  they  arrived  on  the  first  of  August,  having  laid 
waste  the  whole  intermediate  country.  The  city  was 
attacked  amidst  the  holy  chants  of  the  church.  Peter 
of  Arragon,  who  was  the  liege  lord  of  Beziers  and 
Carcassonne,  had  come  to  endeavor  to  make  peace 
between  his  vassal  and  the  crusaders.  All  he  was  able 
to  obtain,  however,  was  that  the  Viscount  should  be 
allowed  to  leave  the  city  with  twelve  of  his  followers, 
provided  all  the  other  inhabitants  were  abandoned  to 
the  invaders.  When  Roger  heard  this  proposition,  he 
exclaimed  that  he  had  rather  be  flayed  alive  than  con- 
sent to  it.  '  The  legate,'  said  he,  '  shall  not  lay  hand 
on  the  least  of  my  followers,  for  it  is  I  who  have  brought 
them  into  danger.'  This  noble  reply  availed  him 
nothing.  The  city  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  merciless 
enemy;  some  of  the  inhabitants  succeeded  in  escaping 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      331 

through  a  secret  passage,  and  the  others  were  put  to 
the  sword.  As  for  the  Viscount,  he  was  arrested  in 
spite  of  a  safe  conduct  which  he  had  obtained,  and 
was  held  prisoner  in  the  fortress,  where  he  soon  after- 
wards died,  as  many  supposed,  from  the  effects  of 
poison. 

After  the  taking  of  Carcassonne,  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux 
assembled  the  principal  noblemen  in  the  army,  in  order 
to  select  one  to  take  charge  of  the  administration  of 
the  conquered  country,  or,  as  M.  Michelet  expresses  it, 
in  his  spirited  history  of  France,  *  to  keep  watch  in 
arms  over  the  bodies  of  the  dead,  and  over  the  ashes 
of  ruined  cities.'  The  Duke  of  Burgundy  and  the 
Counts  of  Nevers  and  St.  Pol  generously  refused  the 
offer  which  was  made  them,  saying  that  they  had  come 
to  fight  against  the  heretics,  and  not  to  deprive  the  Vis- 
count of  Beziers  of  his  dominions.  Simon,  Count  of 
Montfort,  was  less  scrupulous,  and  after  an  affected 
hesitation,  he  accepted  the  office.  This  man,  whose 
name  is  connected  with  the  most  bloody  scenes  of  the 
war,  had  but  recently  returned  from  the  Holy  Land, 
where  he  had  been  distinguished  not  less  for  his  valor 
than  for  his  blind  submission  to  the  Church,  and  his 
rigorous  observance  of  its  rites.  Without  compassion, 
when  his  fanaticism  was  excited,  he  was  yet  kind  to  his 
followers,  and  ever  considerate  of  their  wants.  Many 
anecdotes  are  related  of  the  strictness  of  his  morals, 
and  his  humanity  towards  the  female  prisoners  who  fell 
into  his  hands.  These  virtues,  uncommon  as  they 
were  in  those  times,  cannot  efface  the  recollection  of 
the  misfortunes  which  he  brought  upon  the  flourishing 
provinces  that  he  was  appointed  to  govern.     Unable 


332      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

even  to  read,  he  felt  no  regard  for  learning  and  civili- 
zation. He  seemed  to  have  but  one  thought,  that  of 
crushing  the  heresy.  The  Church  could  not  have 
found  a  man  better  suited  to  carry  out  her  views,  and 
in  her  gratitude  she  called  hira  the  champion  of  the 
cause  of  God. 

It  seemed  as  if  nothing  now  remained  to  be  done 
but  to  convert  the  remaining  heretics.  The  posses- 
sions of  the  Viscount  of  Beziers,  the  most  powerful 
protector  of  the  Cathari  since  Raymond  of  Toulouse 
had  abandoned  their  cause,  had  been  wrested  from 
him,  and  the  crusade  appeared  to  be  at  an  end.  But 
success  had  inflamed  the  ambition  of  Simon  de  Mont- 
fort,  and  he  resolved  to  continue  the  war  until  all  the 
provinces  which  the  heresy  had  penetrated  should  be 
subjected  to  his  sway.  His  first  act,  on  taking  pos- 
session of  his  new  dominions,  was  to  order  that  the 
tithes  should  be  immediately  paid.  He  also  estab- 
lished new  taxes  in  favor  of  the  Church,  and  carried 
measures  generally  with  so  high  a  hand,  that  the 
barons,  who  had  come  to  take  part  in  the  war,  and 
were  already  disgusted  with  the  many  scenes  of  cruelty 
and  bad  faith  they  had  witnessed,  hastened  to  return 
to  their  own  dominions.  Simon  thus  found  himself 
almost  entirely  abandoned.  He  was  not  discouraged, 
however,  and  even  ventured  to  demand  of  the  Count 
of  Toulouse  certain  of  his  subjects  who  were  suspected 
of  heresy,  threatening  him  with  an  invasion  of  his 
territory  if  he  did  not  comply.  So  insolent  a  message 
roused  Raymond  from  his  apathy.  He  boldly  replied 
that  he  did  not  recognize  the  authority  of  Simon,  and 
that  he  would  only  obey  the  mandates  of  the  Pope. 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      333 

Thereupon  the  legate  excommunicated  him,  and  the 
Count  resolved  to  go  to  Rome  in  order  to  complain  to 
the  Pope  himself  of  the  manner  in  which  ho  had  been 
treated.  He  arrived  at  Rome  at  the  beginning  of  the 
year  1210,  and  was  graciously  received  by  the  Holy 
Father,  who  refused,  however,  to  permit  him  to  justify 
himself  in  his  presence,  as  the  Count  had  demanded, 
but  referred  him  to  a  council  to  be  held  at  St.  Gilles 
in  three  months  from  that  time.  Raymond,  disheart- 
ened, hastened  to  leave  Rome,  '  where,'  says  a  chron- 
icler, '  he  was  greatly  afraid  of  falling  ill,'  and  returned 
to  Toulouse.  At  the  appointed  time,  he  appeared 
before  the  council  of  St,  Gilles,  where  he  was  examined 
by  Arnauld  and  his  associate,  the  canon  Theodosius. 
He  declared  that  all  the  conditions  of  his  reconciliation 
with  Rome  had  been  faithfully  fulfilled.  His  mquisi- 
tors  denied  this,  and  reproached  him  with  not  having 
exterminated  all  the  heretics  in  his  dominions.  The 
Count  could  not  restrain  his  tears,  and  the  sentence 
of  excommunication  was  solemnly  confirmed  against 
him. 

Meanwhile,  Simon  de  Montfort  had  succeeded  in 
levying  a  new  army,  and  had  commenced  attacking 
the  castles  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  dominions,  which 
still  served  as  places  of  refuge  for  the  heretics,  who 
had  been  compelled  to  abandon  the  cities.  One  of 
their  principal  strongholds  was  the  castle  of  Minerve, 
in  the  vicinity  of  Narbonne,  to  which  Montfort  laid 
siege.  It  held  out  for  a  long  time,  but  was  at  last 
obliged  to  yield  to  the  superior  force  of  the  assailants. 
One  of  the  articles  of  the  capitulation  was,  that  those 
who  would  abjure  their  heretical  opinions  should  be 


334      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

allowed  to  leave  the  fortress  unmolested.  As  some  of 
the  crusaders  murmured  against  this  stipulation,  by 
which  they  thought  they  might  be  deprived  of  some  of 
their  victims,  Arnauld  reproved  them,  saying,  '  Be 
not  alarmed  ;  I  know  these  heretics.  Not  one  will 
recant.'  Arnauld  judged  rightly.  A  priest,  Guy  de 
Vaux  Cemay,  was  entrusted  with  the  task  of  conver- 
sion; but  his  endeavors  were  vain.  After  they  had 
listened  for  some  time  to  his  eloquent  exhortations, 
they  replied,  '  We  do  not  wish  for  your  faith.  We 
have  renounced  the  Church  of  Rome.  You  labor  in 
vain,  for  neither  in  life  nor  in  death  will  we  renounce 
the  opinions  which  we  have  formed.'  Thereupon 
Count  Simon  ordered  that  one  hundred  and  forty  of 
them  should  be  publicly  burnt.  This  horrible  death 
did  not  damp  the  ardor  of  their  enthusiasm,  and  they 
hastened  to  throw  themselves  into  the  flames.  After 
this,  the  gates  of  many  other  castles  were  opened  to 
the  crusaders  by  their  tenants,  who  feared  a  similar 
fate  to  that  which  had  befallen  the  unhappy  inhabitants 
of  Minerve.  It  was  now  evident  that  the  only  course 
which  remained  for  Raymond  was  to  endeavor  to  resist 
by  force  the  invasion  with  which  he  was  threatened  by 
Simon. 

As  yet  there  had  been  no  open  hostilities  between 
these  two  men.  The  ambitious  leader  of  the  crusaders 
was  only  waiting,  however,  for  a  pretext  to  attack  the 
Count,  and  this  was  easily  found.  In  the  spring  of 
1211,  Montfort  had  taken  the  castle  of  Lavaur,  one  of 
the  strongholds  of  the  heretics.  During  the  siege, 
Raymond  had  neglected  to  furnish  the  army  with  pro- 
visions.   This  was  considered  as  a  sufficient  cause  of 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      335 

complaint  against  one  who  had  incurred  the  displeasure 
of  the  Church,  and  hostilities  commenced.  After  two 
years  of  alternate  success,  the  Count  of  Toulouse  was 
reduced,  in  1213,  to  the  possession  of  the  city  of  Tou- 
louse and  a  few  of  the  neighboring  towns.  He  then 
called  upon  the  king  of  Arragon  to  come  to  his  as- 
sistance. Don  Pedro  generously  responded  to  this 
appeal,  and  his  first  step  was  to  send  deputies  to  Rome 
to  remonstrate  with  the  Pope  against  the  conduct  of 
Simon  of  Montfort.  They  represented  to  the  Pope 
that,  not  content  with  occupying  all  the  places  inhabit- 
ed by  heretics,  the  leaders  of  the  crusade  had  stretched 
out  their  greedy  hands  towards  lands  whose  inhabitants 
were  not  even  suspected  of  heresy  ;  that  they  had 
obstinately  refused  to  hear  the  justification  of  the 
Count,  although  the  latter  was  ready  to  submit  to  every 
thing,  even  to  exile,  provided  his  dominions  might  pass 
into  the  hands  of  his  son.  The  Pope  listened  with 
seeming  interest  to  their  complaints,  and  ordered  his 
legates  to  convene  a  council,  in  which  it  should  be 
decided  whether  the  Count  might  be  admitted  to  justify 
hinriself.  As  might  easily  have  been  foreseen,  this 
favor  was  denied  to  the  unfortunate  Raymond.  The 
king  of  Arragon  was  greatly  irritated,  and  solemnly 
took  the  excommunicated  prince  under  his  protection. 
On  the  r2th  of  September,  1213,  he  laid  siege  to  the 
little  town  of  Muret,  situated  a  few  miles  only  from 
Toulouse.  When  Montfort  heard  of  this,  he  hastened 
with  the  few  troops  he  could  muster  to  the  rescue  of 
the  inhabitants.  Such  vvsis  the  ardent  confidence  in 
the  justice  of  his  cause  which  upheld  him  in  all  his 
perils,  that  he  did  not  hesitate  with  his  few  followers  to 


336      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

attack  the  large  force  which  Pedro  had  collected  under 
the  walls  of  Muret.  During  this  battle,  which  decided 
the  fate  of  the  Albigenses,  two  French  cavaliers  had 
agreed  to  attack  the  king  himself,  and  not  to  assail  any 
less  noble  opponent.  Pedro  had  doubtless  been  warned 
of  this  plan,  for  he  had  exchanged  armor  with  one  of 
his  followers.  The  knights  attacked  the  person  who 
wore  the  king's  armor,  but  seeing  how  readily  he 
yielded  under  their  blows,  one  of  them  exclaimed,  '  It 
is  not  the  king ;  he  is  a  better  knight ! '  '  True,'  cried 
Don  Pedro,  who  was  standing  near;  'it  is  not  he;  I 
am  the  king!'  This  bold  declaration  cost  him  his  life; 
and  the  army  was  so  disconcerted  by  the  death  of  its 
leader,  that  Montfort  soon  succeeded  in  making  him- 
self master  of  the  field. 

Flushed  with  this  important  victory,  he  hastened  on 
to  Toulouse,  which  did  not  even  attempt  resistance. 
Raymond,  despairing  of  his  cause,  and  counting  no 
longer  either  on  the  Pope  or  the  king  of  France,  re- 
tired with  his  son  to  England,  where  he  did  homage  to 
the  English  monarch  for  the  county  of  Toulouse.  He 
was  not  wrong  in  renouncing  all  hope  in  Philip  Augus- 
tus ;  for  no  sooner  did  that  prin«e  see  that  there  was 
not  any  chance  of  success  for  the  Count,  than  he 
allowed  his  son  Louis  to  lead  an  army  into  the  South. 
It  was  in  company  with  that  prince  that  Simon  de 
Montfort  entered  Toulouse,  and  added  the  city  and 
county  to  his  former  possessions. 

About  this  time,  November,  1215,  the  celebrated 
council  of  Late  ran  was  opened  at  Rome.  It  was  one 
of  the  most  imposing  the  Church  had  ever  witnessed. 
It  had   been  assembled  for  the  purpose  of  legislating 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      337 

about  the  heretics,  and  of  settling  definitely  the  quarrel 
between  Count  Eaymond  and  the  Church.  It  was  in 
vain  that  the  Count  himself  went  to  Rome  to  plead 
his  cause.  His  enemies  were  too  powerful  for  him, 
and  the  council  pronounced  against  him.  Such  was 
the  power  of  the  Church,  that  not  a  voice  was  raised 
against  this  iniquitous  sentence.  Not  even  the  king 
of  France,  whose  interest  it  certainly  was  to  pi"o- 
tect  a  vassal,  opposed  it.  On  the  contrary,  he  shortly 
afterwards  allowed  Simon  to  do  homage  for  those  prov- 
inces, '  which  had  been  possessed  by  Raymond,  for- 
merly Count  of  Toulouse.' 

The  council  did  not  separate  without  sanctioning  a 
project  which,  when  matured  and  carried  into  execution, 
was  to  have  the  most  important  results  for  the  Romish 
Church.  The  Spaniard  Dominic,  renowned  alike  for 
his  piety,  eloquence,  and  charity,  who,  as  we  have  seen, 
took  an  active  part  in  the  events  which  occurred  during 
the  first  years  of  the  persecution  of  the  Cathari,  had 
formed  the  plan  of  founding  a  new  religious  order.  It 
was  while  engaged  in  the  conversion  of  the  heretics, 
that  he  had  been  deeply  impressed  by  the  influence 
which  the  Catharist  preachers  exercised  over  the  peo- 
ple, and  had  thought  that  the  best  means  of  counter- 
acting this  effect  was  to  imitate  their  example,  and  to 
oppose  to  the  poor  and  apostolic  life  of  the  Cathari,  the 
life  no  less  austere  of  monks  devoted  to  poverty.  He 
thus  conceived  the  plan  of  establishing  a  religious  order, 
whose  members  should  go  from  place  to  place,  preaching 
the  doctrines  of  the  Catholic  Church.  Before  putting  this 
scheme  into  execution,  he  proceeded  to  Rome  to  com- 
municate it  to  the  Pope.  Innocent  at  first  listened  with^ 
22 


338      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

distrust,  and  refused  to  favor  the  plan.  '  But  night, 
that  divine  counsellor  of  men,'  says  a  Catholic  writer, 
*  brought  him  better  thoughts.  Whilst  he  was  sleeping 
profoundly,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  the  Church 
of  St.  John  of  Lateran,  and  Dominic  leaning  against 
it  and  supporting  on  his  shoulders  its  tottering  walls. 
On  the  morrow,  he  sent  for  the  holy  man,  and  or- 
dered him  to  return  to  France  to  his  companions,  to 
agree  with  them  upon  the  establishment  of  the  order.'* 
It  was  not  until  1216,  however,  after  the  death  of  Pope 
Innocent,  that  the  order  of  Dominican  or  preaching 
Friars  was  fully  organized  and  sanctioned  by  papal  au- 
thority. At  the  death  of  Dominic,  in  1221,  no  less 
than  sixty  monasteries  of  this  order  existed,  and  the 
friars  had  commenced  a  zealous  and  successful  warfare 
against  the  heretics. 

The  severity  of  the  sentence  pronounced  against 
Count  Raymond  had  excited  the  indignation  of  his  for- 
mer subjects.  He  resolved  to  take  advantage  of  this 
disposition  in  his  favor,  and  to  attempt  to  regain  those 
dominions  of  which  he  had  been  so  unjustly  depriv- 
ed. He  landed  at  Marseilles  with  his  son,  where  they 
were  both  received  with  acclamations.  Many  noble- 
men, who  had  formerly  opposed  them,  now  hastened 
to  take  up  arms  in  their  cause,  and  they  proceeded  in 
triumph  to  Toulouse,  their  capital,  which  they  succeed- 
ed in  rescuing  from  their  enemies.  Simon  de  Montfort 
hastened  with  his  troops  to  lay  siege  to  this  place ;  but 
the  city  was  so  well  defended,  that  he  was  compelled 

•  Mimoires  pour  servir  au  Rtlablissement  de  V  Ordre  dct 
Freret  Precheuri  en  France^  by  the  eloqueut  Domiuiciui  preach- 
er, Lacordaire. 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      339 

to  apply  to  Philip  Augustus  for  aid.  The  king  sent 
him  some  troops,  but  they  had  scarcely  arrived,  when, 
on  the  25th  of  June,  1218,  Montfort  was  killed  by  a 
stone  thrown  from  the  ramparts.  His  death  was  be- 
wailed by  his  followers  as  if  he  had  been  a  martyr; 
and  the  consternation  produced  by  it  was  so  great,  that 
his  son  Amaury  was  obliged  to  raise  the  siege,  and  to 
retire  to  Carcassonne,  where  his  father's  remains-  were 
solemnly  interred.  A  contemporary  poet  cites^  the  epi- 
taph placed  on  his  tomb,  and  eloquently  exclaims,  '  To 
him,  who  can  read  it  aright,  this  epitaph  says  that  he 
is  a  saint  and  martyr,  and  that  he  will  rise  to  eternal 
life,  there  to  wear  a  crown  and  be  seated  on  a  throne. 
And  surely  it  must  be  so,  if,  as  I  have  heard,  by  killing 
men  and  shedding  blood,  ruining  souls  and  consenting 
to  murders,  listening  to  false  counsel  and  lighting  hor- 
rible fires,  destroying  the  barons  and  degrading  the 
nobility,  depriving  men  of  their  lands  and  encouraging 
violence,  strangling  women  and  innocent  children, — 
if  by  such  means,  a  man  can  in  this  world  gain  the 
kingdom  of  Christ,  then  the  Count  must  indeed  wear  a 
crown,  and  shine  resplendent  in  Heaven.'* 

Neither  the  death  of  Montfort,  nor.  that  of  Eaymond, 
which  occurred  in  1223,  put  an  end  to  the  war.  It 
was  continued  by  their  successors.  A  new  crusade 
was  preached  against  Raymond  VII.,  who  had  succeed- 

*  See  '  Histoire  en  Vers  de  la  Croisade  contrc  les  Hcretiques 
Aloigeois,'  published  by  the  late  M.  Fauriel,  in  the  valuable 
Collection  of  Documents  relating  to  the  History  of  France,  and 
which  contains  one  of  the  most  complete  accounts  of  the  Cru- 
sade. 


340      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

cd  his  father,  and  Louis  VIII.  of  France  headed  the 
army.  In  1229,  both  parties,  exhausted  by  the  war, 
and  ardently  dcsirinfr  to  put  an  end  to  it,  agreed  to  sign 
a  treaty  of  peace  at  Meaux.  On  the  12th  of  April*  of 
that  year,  the  Count  of  Toulouse  solemnly  swore,  in 
the  great  church  of  Notre  Dame,  in  Paris,  to  observe 
this  treaty,  humiliating  to  him  as  its  stipulations  were. 
By  this  act,  he  promised  allegiance  to  the  king  of 
Franco,  and  thus  prepared  the  way  for  the  final  de- 
struction of  the  independence  of  the  South. 

'Thus  terminated,' says  Mr.  Schmidt,  'the  war  against  the 
Albigenses.  It  was  productive  of  the  most  important  conse- 
quences, as  well  for  Languedoc  as  for  the  rest  of  France.  At 
first,  the  destruction  of  the  heresy  had  been  not  only  the  pretext, 
but  the  real  cause,  of  the  war ;  soon,  however,  this  ceased  to  be 
any  thing  more  than  a  pretext  to  obtain  objects,  in  which  the 
interests  of  the  Catholic  faith  were  but  little  concerned.  Politi- 
cal and  national  interests  were  soon  blended  with  those  of  the 
Church,  and  it  was  not  long  before  they  formed  the  principal 
motives  for  continuing  the  war,  although  they  were  still  veiled 
under  the  name  of  religion.  This  war  was  one  between  the 
citizens  and  knights  of  the  south  and  the  northern  barons,  who 
were  allied  with  a  fanatic  and  ambitious  clergy.  It  was  a  war 
of  violence  against  right,  and,  as  a  poet  expresses  it,  —  "of 
fraud  against  honesty."  It  prepared  the  way  for  the  extinction 
of  the  nationality  peculiar  to  the  south  of  France,  and  the  amal- 
gamation of  this  generous  and  illustrious  population  with  the 
rest  of  the  nation.  If  this  result  is  one  in  which  we  shbuld  re- 
joice, the  honor  of  it  does  not  belong  to  those  who  effected  it 
from  motives  of  vengeance  or  hatred,  but  to  tliat  Divine  Provi- 
dence, which  is  able  to  make  the  evil  actions  of  men  work  for 
good.  As  far  as  the  primitive  object  of  the  crusade,  the  extir- 
pation of  heresy,  is  concerned,  it  is  certain  that  the  crusade  did 
not  accomplish  it.  The  heresy  continued  to  reign  with  as  much 
power  in  Languedoc  after  the  crusade,  as  when  Innocent  III. 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      341 

first  undertook  to  destroy  it  by  the  force  of  arms.  The  indigna- 
tion to  which  the  horrors  committed  during  the  war,  the  ruin 
of  the  prosperity  of  the  country,  the  destruction  of  its  nation- 
ality and  religious  independence,  and  of  the  joyous  and  poetic 
mode  of  life  in  the  south,  gave  rise,  lent  new  strength  to  the 
heresy.  For  the  nobility,  as  well  as  the  otlier  classes  of  society, 
attributed  the  misfortunes  which  befell  their  country,  not  merely 
to  the  cruelty  of  the  northern  French,  but  still  more  to  the  per- 
fidiousness  and  fanaticism  of  the  clergy.  To  the  cours  d^amour 
had  succeeded  the  tribunals  of  the  Inquisition ;  the  gay  science 
had  made  way  for  an  ardent  theological  controversy,  the  prin- 
cipal argument  of  which  was  the  stake.  Instead  of  the  poets 
and  story-tellers  who  had  travelled  through  the  country,  only 
the  gloomy  figures  of  monks  could  be  seen ;  and  in  that  land 
where  formerly  the  glorious  exploits  of  past  ages  had  been  sung, 
nothing  was  heard  but  sermons  urging  the  population  to  relig- 
ious persecution.  Many  castles  were  occupied  by  the  foreign 
conquerors,  whilst  the  former  inmates,  excommunicated  by  the 
Church,  lived  either  in  exile  or  hidden  in  the  thick  foi'est.  It  is 
easy  to  imagine  the  efiect  which  such  a  change  must  have  pro 
daced  on  the  ardent  imagination  of  the  inhabitants  of  these 
southern  climes.  Far  from  becoming  more  attached  to  the 
Church,  they  conceived  against  it  an  implacable  hatred.  This 
feeling  bursts  forth  with  energy  in  the  lays  of  the  last  Provencal 
poets,  who  complain  bitterly  that  all  their  pleasures  have  faded 
away.  They  no  longer  sing  either  love  or  chivalry.  They  only 
write  to  lament  the  decline  of  their  native  country,  and  to  ac- 
cuse the  French,  the  clergy,  and  above  all,  the  Pope.  These  lays, 
which  breathe  only  sadness  or  revenge,  were  eagerly  listened  to 
ty  a  people  so  easily  moved  by  the  power  of  poetry;  they  kept 
up  that  feeling  of  enmity  which  made  them  regard  the  French  of 
the  north  as  oppressors,  and  by  fortifying  them  in  their  resist- 
ance to  a  Church,  which,  in  order  to  gain  them  over  to  her  faith, 
had  had  recourse  to  such  barbarous  means,  confirmed  them  in 
their  attachment  to  the  Catharist  sect.' 

Owing  to  these  circumstances,  it  was  not  till  the  mid- 
dle of  the  fourteenth  century  that  the  heresy  entirely 


342      Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses. 

disappeared.  The  persecutions  of  the  loquisition  were 
at  last  successful.  The  temporal  and  spiritual  power 
were  closely  associated  in  the  work  of  destruction. 
The  archives  of  the  tribunals  of  the  Inquisition  estab- 
lished in  Languedoc  bear  witness  to  the  zeal  with 
which  this  odious  pereccution  was  carried  on.  Aban- 
doned by  the  powerful  barons,  which  had  so  long 
protected  them,  and  weakened  in  numbers,  the  Ca- 
thari  ceased  to  resist,  and  gradually  renounced  their 
faith.  But  the  spirit  which  had  so  long  sustained  them 
in  opposition  was  not  crushed.  Other  heretics  arose  in 
their  place;  and  when,  after  several  centuries,  owing 
to  the  progress  of  civilization,  and,  above  all,  to  the 
invention  of  printing,  an  irretrievable  schism  took  place 
in  the  Church,  it  was  in  those  cities,  in  those  parts  of 
the  country  where  the  Cathari  had  been  the  most  nu- 
merous, that  Protestant  communities  were  most  firmly 
established.  It  is,  indeed,  a  spiritual  affinity  between 
the  faith  of  the  Cathari  and  that  of  Protestants  which 
makes  us  sympathize  with  the  former,  rather  than  any 
positive  resemblance  between  their  doctrines  and  those 
of  the  modern  Reformers.  Viewed  as  a  theological 
or  a  philosophical  system,  the  Catharist  heresy  would 
be  entitled  to  little  respect;  but  the  spirit  of  those  who, 
in  adopting  it,  opposed  the  power  of  Rome  and  endeav- 
ored to  reform  its  abuses,  must  strongly  excite  our  ad- 
miration. The  system  itself  is  so  defective,  it  gives 
such  erroneous  views  of  man  and  of  his  relations  to 
his  Creator,  it  is  so  strongly  imbued  with  errors  derived 
from  paganism,  that  it  could  only  have  been  so  widely 
spread  as  it  was  in  a  rude  age  and  among  an  illiterate 
people.     And  it  is  doubtful  whether  it  would  have  found 


Schmidt's  history  of  the  albigenses.      343 

so  many  believers  even  in  such  an  age,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  many  circumstances  which  combined  to  favor 
its  growth.  The  contrast  which  the  pure  lives  of  the 
Cathari  offered  to  those  of  the  Catholic  clergy,  the 
comparative  simplicity  of  their  worship,  and  above  all, 
the  violent  measures  to  which  the  Church  resorted  in 
in  order  to  extirpate  the  heresy,  could  not  have  failed 
to  gain  many  over  to  their  cause.  Religious  liberty, 
the  liberty  of  the.  human  mind  to  speculate  on  the 
highest  subjects  offered  to  its  meditation,  and  to  con- 
clude according  to  the  degree  of  light  which  has  been 
imparted  to  it,  cannot  be  destroyed  by  such  means  as 
the  Catholic  Church  adopted  against  the  Cathari.  The 
more  it  is  persecuted,  the  more  powerful  it  becomes. 
Those  who  proclaim  its  sacred  principles  before  the 
time  marked  by  Providence  for  their  reception  may 
perish,  but  from  their  ashes  will  arise  others,  who  in 
their  turn  will  strive  for  this  noble  cause,  and  ultimate- 
ly triumph.  Thus  it  was  with  the  Cathari.  They,  like 
many  other  of  the  heretical  sects  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
were  but  the  predecessors  of  more  fortunate  reform- 
ers, who,  coming  at  a  more  enlightened  period  of  the 
world's  history,  were  enabled  to  establish  on  an  im- 
perishable basis  the  religious  freedom  of  mankind. 


THIERS'S  HISTORY  OF    THE    CONSULATE   AND  THE 
EMPIRE.* 


This  work  has  not  yet  been  noticed  in  our  pages,  as 
we  hoped  its  publication  would  be  completed,  and  that 
we  might  view  it  as  a  whole.  But  six  years  have  now 
elapsed  since  the  first  volume  appeared,  and  although 
the  tenth  volume  is  now  before  us,  there  seems  to  be 
but  little  prospect  of  its  speedy  completion.  Wc  must 
therefore  content  ourselves  with  what  has  been  done ; 
and,  indeed,  the  field  seems  sufficiently  large.  The 
volumes  published  carry  the  story  from  the  Revolution 
of  the  18th  of  Brumaire  to  the  German  campaign  of 
the  year  1809.  From  a  view  of  the  manner  in  which 
this  period  has  been  treated,  we  may  infer  the  spirit  in 
which  the  whole  work  will  be  conceived  and  exe- 
cuted. 

But  before  we  enter  into  any  account  of  the  book 
itself,  we  would  give  a  brief  sketch  of  the  life  and  la- 
bors of  M.  Thiers.  Few  men  have  played  a  more 
conspicuous  and  influential  part  in  France  during  the 
last  twenty-five  years,  though  the  system  which  he  so 

*  Histoire  du  Consulat  ct  de  V Empire.  Par  M.  Thiers.  Paris  : 
10  vols.  8vo.  1845-1851. 


THIERS'S    HISTORY    OF    THE    CONSULATE.  345 

strenuously  labored  to  establish  there  has  been  over- 
turned. He  has  been  judged,  sometimes  with  all  the 
partiality  with  which  political  partisans  are  apt  to  re- 
gard their  leaders,  sometimes  with  all  the  severity  of 
bitter  and  implacable  opponents  ;  but  no  one  at  all  ac- 
quainted with  the  history  of  the  latter  years  of  the 
Restoration  and  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe,  can  deny 
that  he  is  endowed  with  remarkable  talents,  and  that, 
whether  he  be  regarded  as  a  writer,  a  statesman,  or  a 
debater,  he  has  but  few  equals  in  France. 

Louis  Adolphe  Thiers  was  born  on  the  15th  of 
April,  1797,  at  Marseilles,  of  an  humble  but  respecta- 
ble family,  which,  during  the  Revolution,  had  been  de- 
prived of  the  small  fortune  they  had  amassed  in  trade. 
He  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  a  fellowship  in  the 
college  of  his  native  town,  and  was  thus  enabled  to 
acquire  an  education,  which,  had  he  depended  on  the 
resources  of  his  family  alone,  he  probably  could  not 
have  attained.  It  was  not  long  before  he  justified  the 
favor  which  the  government  had  shown  him,  by  plac- 
ing himself  at  the  head  of  the  different  classes  through 
which  he  passed.  Napoleon  had  hoped,  l)y  founding 
these  fellowships  in  the  different  colleges  in  his  empire, 
to  be  able  to  educate  young  men,  who,  at  a  future  peri- 
od, might  become  the  defenders  of  the  despotic  though 
glorious  system  he  was  so  anxious  to  establish  perma- 
nently in  France.  But  even  before  Thiers  had  finished 
his  college  studies,  the  empire  had  vanished,  and  Louis 
XVIII.  was  restored  to  the  throne  of  his  ancestors. 
Finding  that  he  could  no  longer  look  to  government 
for   any  assistance,  Thiers   immediately  left   college. 


346  THIERS'S    HISTORY    OF   THE 

Obliged  to  choose  a  profession  as  a  means  of  obtaining 
a  livelihood,  after  considerable  hesitation,  he  entered  his 
name  at  the  Law  School  of  Aix.  It  was  there  that  he 
formed  an  intimacy  with  M.  Mignct,  the  distinguished 
secretary  of  the  Academy  of  the  Moral  and  Political 
Sciences,  which  has  since  ripened  into  a  friendship, 
which  neither  the  multifarious  occupations  of  active 
political  life,  nor  literary  emulation,  have  ever  for  a 
moment  impaired. 

While  at  Aix,  Thiers  devoted  himself  with  zeal  to 
the  study  of  his  profession,  but  without  neglecting 
mathematical  and  metaphysical  pursuits,  for  which  he 
seems  to  have  acquired  a  fondness  at  college.  An  op- 
portunity of  availing  himself  of  these  studies  was  soon 
afforded.  The  city  of  Aix,  desirous,  like  most  of  the 
provincial  cities  of  France,  of  imitating  Paris  in  litera- 
ry matters  as  well  as  in  every  thing  else,  had  an  acad- 
emy which  annually  proposed  prize  questions.  In 
1818,  the  subject  given  out  was  a  sketch  of  Vauvcn- 
argues,  an  eminent  writer  on  moral  philosophy,  who 
was  bom  at  Aix.  Thiers  resolved  to  try  his  fortune, 
and  his  paper  was  read  by  the  Academy,  and  received 
general  approbation.  Unfortunately  for  the  author, 
his  name  was  discovered  before  the  prize  was  awarded; 
and  the  judges,  who  disliked  him  on  account  of  his  lib- 
eral principles,  resolved  not  to  grant  any  prize,  but  to 
give  out  the  same  question  for  the  following  year. 
Thiers  was  not  thus  to  be  defeated.  With  the  facility 
which  has  always  distinguished  him,  he  immediately 
wrote  another  paper,  treating  the  subject  in  an  entirely 
different  manner ;  and  in  order  to  make  sure  of  the 
victory,  he  sent  his  manuscript  to  a  friend  in  Paris, 


CONSULATE    AND   THE    EMPIRE.  347 

who  forwarded  it  to  the  Academy  through  the  post- 
ofiice.  The  result  of  this  little  stratagem  was  what 
might  have  been  expected.  The  provincial  Academy 
was  so  flattered  by  the  honor  conferred  on  it  by  the 
metropolis,  that  it  unhesitatingly  awarded  the  first 
prize  to  this  essay,  at  the  same  time  granting  the  sec- 
ond to  Thiers's  paper  of  the  preceding  year.  Their 
surprise  and  mortification,  on  finding  that  both  papers 
were  by  the  same  hand,  may  readily  be  imagined. 
This  success  gave  Thiers  considerable  reputation ;  but 
he  soon  found  that  a  provincial  town  was  too  small  a 
sphere  of  action  for  him.  The  practice  of  the  law, 
with  all  its  drudgery,  was  ill  calculated  to  satisfy  his 
ambition.  He  resolved  to  go  to  Paris ;  and  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1821,  he  and  his  friend  Mignet  left  Aix  and  di- 
rected their  course  towards  the  capital. 

The  moment  for  visiting  Paris  could  not  have  been 
better  chosen.  Six  years  only  had  elapsed  since  the 
Restoration  of  the  Bourbons,  and  already,  by  the  faults 
which  they  had  committed,  they  had  alienated  the 
people  from  them.  The  opposition  party  was  daily 
gaining  ground,  and  was  threatening  the  government 
with  ruin.  Manuel,  the  ardent  leader  of  this  party, 
was  devoting  himself  in  the  Chamber  to  the  defence  of 
liberal  principles.  Beranger,  perhaps  the  greatest,  and 
certainly  the  most  popular  of  the  French  poets  of  the 
age,  was  ai'ousing  the  nation  from  its  apathy  by  those 
patriotic  songs  which  recalled  so  vividly  the  glories  of 
the  Empire,  and  inspired  feelings  of  hatred  and  re- 
venge against  a  government  which  owed  its  existence 
rather  to  foreign  bayonets  than  to  the  will  of  the  peo- 
ple.    Lafitte,  whose  name  is  so  closely  connected  with 


348  THIEES'S   HISTORY   OF   THE 

the  government  established  in  1830,  had  already  begun 
to  collect  around  him  the  discontented  of  all  parties. 
The  two  newspapers  which  then  represented  the  libe- 
ral party  were  the  Courrier  Frangais  and  the  ConstU 
tutionnel.  Mignet  soon  became  the  principal  contribu- 
tor to  the  former,  and  Thiers,  through  the  agency  of 
Manuel,  was  intrusted  with  the  political  control  of  the 
Constitutionnel.  He  soon  attracted  public  attention  by 
the  able  and  spirited  articles  which  he  wrote  for  that 
paper,  and  by  the  eloquent  manner  in  which  he  de- 
fended, in  the  political  salons  of  the  day,  the  princi- 
ples of  his  party.  He  did  not,  however,  confine 
himself  exclusively  to  politics.  Like  most  young  men 
who  have  not  yet  entered  on  the  regular  occupations 
and  duties  of  life,  he  seemed  as  yet  undecided  in  re- 
spect to  the  choice  of  a  profession  for  life.  In  1822, 
we  find,  in  the  same  paper  in  which  he  wrote  his  essays 
on  the  leading  political  questions  of  the  times,  a  series 
of  articles  on  art,  for  which  he  has  ever  entertained, 
even  amidst  the  cares  of  office  and  the  harassing 
duties  of  public  life,  a  fond  love  and  a  discrimi- 
nating taste.  In  1823,  he  published  an  account  of  a 
journey  which  he  took  in  the  south  of  France ;  and  al- 
though the  principal  object  of  this  work  was  to  give  a 
sketch  of  the  political  condition  of  that  part  of  the 
country,  it  contains  many  passages  in  which  the  beau- 
ties of  nature  are  delineated  in  the  most  striking  colors. 
While  engaged  in  the  turbulent  political  discussions 
of  the  day,  Thiers  had  necessarily  frequent  occasion  to 
refer  to  the  speeches  and  writings  of  the  leading  men 
of  the  Revolution  of  1789.  He  identified  himself 
with  them,  and  imbibed  their  spirit.     He  believed,  that, 


CONSULATE    AND    THE    EMPIRE.  349 

in  the  present  degraded  position  of  France,  all  her 
hopes  must  rest  on  those  who  should  undertake  to  carry 
out  the  principles  proclaimed  during  that  memorable 
crisis.  One  of  the  principal  objects  of  the  despotic 
government  of  Napoleon  had  seemed  to  be,  to  blot  out 
from  the  memory  of  the  nation  the  recollection  of  the 
source  whence  it  sprang ;  and  to  a  government  like 
that  of  the  Restoration,  a  revolution  which  had  abol- 
ished the  feudal  rights  of  the  aristocracy,  and  had  pro- 
claimed the  equality  of  all  Frenchmen,  seemed  the 
incarnation  of  all  that  was  monstrous.  Thiers  endeav- 
ored to  create  an  interest  in  the  men  who  had  endeav- 
ored to  regenerate  France  by  violent  and  revolutionary 
means  ;  and  for  this  purpose,  he  gave  his  countrymen 
a  history  of  the  generation  from  which  they  were  de- 
scended. He  succeeded  but  too  well.  His  history  of 
the  Revolution  soon  made  the  author's  name  known 
throughout  France.  In  a  short  time,  it  was  in  the 
hands  of  every  intelligent  Frenchman,  and  contributed 
not  a  little  to  discredit  the  administration  of  the  Bour- 
bons, and  to  prepare  the  public  mind  for  the  Revolution 
of  1830.  In  perusing  this  work,  the  reader  should 
always  bear  in  mind  the  object  which  the  author  had  in 
view  in  writing  it.  It  should  be  regarded  rather  as  a 
.  political  manifesto  than  as  a  history.  Although  por- 
tions of  it  give  evidence  of  the  author's  powers  as  an 
historical  writer,  and  some  of  the  descriptive  passages 
are  very  successfully  executed,  the  reader  easily  per- 
ceives the  work  to  be  that  of  a  politician,  who  is  writ- 
ing a  defence  of  the  Revolution  and  its  principles.  It 
is  evident  that  the  author's  intention  is,  not  so  much  to 
describe  the  different  phases  of  that  revolution,  as  to 


350  THIERS'S    HISTORY    OF    THE 

arouse  his  countrymen,  and  to  induce  them  tb  found  a 
government  which  should  be  based  on  the  principles  of 
lil)erty  and  equality  proclaimed  in  1792.  A  work  of 
this  sort  is  not  written  for  posterity,  and  it  is  not  de- 
tracting from  the  author's  merits  to  say,  that  it  will 
probably  be  but  little  read  at  a  future  period.  The 
work  of  Mignet,  on  the  same  subject,  though  it  is  also 
marked  by  too  much  partiality,  will  probably  liave 
more  lasting  value. 

But  whatever  may  now  be  thought  of  the  history  of 
the  Revolution  as  an  historical  composition,  its  success 
at  the  time  of  its  publication  was  unbounded.  It  at 
once  placed  Thiers  at  the  head  of  the  opposition,  or 
rather  of  the  revolutionary  fraction  of  that  party ; 
which  was  at  that  time  divided  into  two  distinct  classes. 
The  one  of  which  Thiers  became  the  leader  looked 
forward  with  impatience  to  the  moment  of  the  downfall 
of  the  reigning  dynasty,  as  the  only  hope  of  France  ; 
the  other,  which  received  the  name  of  the  Doc- 
trinaires^  and  which  counted  in  its  ranks  such  men  as 
Guizot,  Villemain,  Cousin,  and  Remusat,  believed  that 
a  durable  constitutional  monarchy  might  be  founded 
with  the  Bourbons.  Both  these  fractions  were,  how- 
ever, opposed  to  the  course  pursued  by  government ; 
they  differed  only  as  to  the  manner  of  their  opposition. 
Such  was  the  state  of  feeling  in  the  liberal  party  when, 
in  August,  1829,  M.  de  Polignac  was  called  to  the 
ministry,  and  it  became  evident  at  once  that  the  admin- 
istration was  determined  to  resist  to  the  utmost  the  just 
claims  of  the  nation.  It  was  then  that  Thiers,  Mignet, 
and  Armand  Carrel  decided  to  establish  a  paper  called 
the  National,  which  should  protest  against  the  reaction* 


CONSULATE  AND  THE  EMPIRE.         351 

ary  conduct  of  the  ministry,  and  defend  to  the  last  the 
constitutional  charter. 

In  this  journal,  Thiers  treated  with  remarkable  ability 
the  principal  constitutional  questions  of  the  day.  The 
true  theory  of  a  limited  monarchy,  the  form  of  govern- 
ment to  which  he  has  always  been  attached,  and  his 
confidence  in  which  was  not  shaken  even  by  the  events 
of  1848,  is  admirably  developed  in  the  articles  pub- 
lished by  him  at  that  time.  As  a  specimen  of  his 
views  on  this  subject,  we  translate  the  following  ex- 
tracts from  an  article  entitled  '  The  King  reigns,  hut 
does  not  govern.^ 

'  We  have  again  become  involved  in  a  discussion  with  the  mftiis- 
terial  journalists  concerning  the  form  of  our  monarchy  and  the 
limits  of  the  royal  and  parliamentary  power.  They  make  an  ad- 
mission of  which  we  hasten  to  take  notice,  —  namely,  that  in  Eng- 
land, the  ministry  is  always  chosen  from  the  majority  in  Parlia- 
ment, and  receives  its  power  from  parliament  alone ;  that,  in  fact, 
parliament  chooses  the  ministers.  They  add,  that  it  is  because 
parliament  has  the  initiative  in  law-making  in  England,  and  be- 
cause this  initiative  and  the  choice  of  ministers  are  two  rights 
that  necessarily  go  together,  that  the  English  monarchy  is  not 
the  same  as  the  French ;  and  thus  they  avoid  the  consequences  of 
their  admission.  It  remains  then  for  us  to  show,  that  with  re- 
gard to  royal  and  parliamentary  rights,  there  is  no  difference  be- 
tween the  two  countries.  This  is  what  we  most  sincerely  believe. 
We  think  that  there  is  but  one  possible  form  of  representative 
monarchy,  and  that  the  differences  between  England  and  France 
consist  merely  in  the  social  condition  of  the  two  countries,  that  of 
the  one  being  still  feudal  and  aristocratic,  that  of  the  other  revo- 
lutionized. In  both,  the  rights  of  king  and  parliament  are  abso- 
lutely the  same,  because  they  cannot  vary ;  because  representative 
monarchy,  whether  established  in  Spain,  Italy,  Germany,  or  Rus- 
sia, would  be  in  all  these  countries  the  same.  It  is  a  system  of 
which  all  the  different  parts  are  necessary,  and  cannot  vary. 


352  THIERS'S    HISTORY    OF    THE 

'Tlic  king  does  not  administer,  does  not  govern,  but  reigns. 
Ministers  administer  and  govern,  nor  can  they  be  compelled  to 
retain  a  single  subaltern  against  their  will ;  whereas  tlic  king 
may  often  have  a  minister  against  his  will,  because,  we  repeat  it» 
he  docs  not  administer,  he  does  not  govern,  he  reigns.  To  reign 
is  a  noble  privilege,  —  one  which  it  is  difficult  to  make  some 
princes  understand,  but  which  the  sovereigns  of  England  under- 
stand perfectly.  An  English  king  is  the  first  gentleman  in  his 
kingdom.  lie  hunts,  has  a  taste  for  horses,  is  fond  of  travelling, 
and  visits  the  continent,  so  long  as  he  is  Prince  of  ^Vales  He  is 
even  a  philosopher,  when  it  is  the  fashion  for  the  nobility  to  be 
philosophers.  He  has  English  pride  and  English  ambition  devel- 
oped to  the  highest  degree.  He  wishes  the  triumph  of  the  Eng- 
glish  fl  vg.  His  heart  is  the  happiest  in  England  after  Aboukir 
and  Trafalgar.  In  a  word,  he  is  the  highest  expression  of  the 
EugHsli  character.  The  English  nation  respect  and  love  in  him 
their  truest  representative.  They  enrich  him,  and  wish  that  he 
should  live  in  a  style  becoming  his  position  and  the  wealth  of  the 
nation.  The  king  has  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman;  he  has  his 
preferences,  his  antipathies.  He  has  the  veto  power  ;  he  may 
di-ssolve  a  parliament,  or  refuse  a  bill,  when  things  seem  to  be  too 
much  opposed  to  his  views.  But  he  does  not  govern  ;  he  lets  the 
country  govern  itself.  He  rarely  follows  his  inclinations  in  the 
choice  of  his  ministers ;  he  bikes  Fox,  whom  he  does  not  like, 
and  Pitt,  whom  he  does  ;  he  takes  Canning,  whom  he  does  not 
dismiss,  and  who  dies  in  office.  Chatham,  having  left  the  minis- 
try, was  still,  in  the  opinion  of  the  Commons,  the  man  necessary 
for  the  times.  The  king  sends  Mr.  Fox  to  a.sk  him  to  take  office. 
"  Go  and  tell  the  king,"  replies  he,  "  that  when  he  shall  send  me 
a  messenger  more  worthy  of  himself  and  of  me,  I  will  answer  so 
honorable  a  message."  This  more  worthy  messenger  is  sent,  and 
Chatham  becomes  the  founder  of  a  dynasty  of  ministers  dis- 
agreeable to  the  king  and  rulers  of  the  kingdom  for  more  than 
half  a  century.  To  reign,  then,  is  not  to  govern  ;  it  is  to  be 
the  truest,  the  highest,  and  the  most  respected  representative 
of  the  country.  The  king  is  the  country  under  the  form  of  a 
man.' 


CONSULATE    AND   THE    EMPIRE.  353 

Meanwhile,  government  was  pursuing  its  arbitrary 
course,  and  at  last  crowned  all  its  follies  by  the  ordi- 
nances of  July,  1830,  which  cost  the  Bourbons  their 
throne.  Thiers  took  an  active  part  in  the  events  which 
ended  by  placing  Louis  Philippe  on  the  throne,  and 
the  young  politician  was  at  once  admitted  into  the 
councils  of  government.  The  first  office  he  held  was 
that  of  Councillor  of  State  in  the  financial  department. 
Shortly  after  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Cham- 
ber of  Deputies  by  his  native  city.  In  -1832,  at  the 
death  of  Casimir  Perier,  he. became  Minister  of  the 
Interior.  It  was  during  his  ministry  that  the  Duchess 
of  Beny  undertook  her  celebrated  expedition  in  La 
Vendee.  Much  and  well-merited  blame  has  attached 
to  M.  Thiers  for  his  conduct  at  that  time.  The  arrest 
of  the  Duchess  was  undoubtedly  an  event  which  all 
the  friends  of  the  new  government  considered  as  most 
fortunate  ;  for  with  the  failure  of  her  undertaking,  the 
hopes  of  the  Legitimist  party  were  crushed  until  the 
unexpected  events  of  1848  revived  them ;  yet  it  is 
more  than  questionable  whether  the  means  resorted  to 
by  the  minister,  in  order  to  accomplish  so  desirable  an 
objectj  were  such  as  can  be  justified.  Government  be- 
ing extremely  anxious  to  discover  the  place  of  conceal- 
ment of  the  Duchess,  M.  Thiers  one  day  received  an 
anonymous  note,  requesting  an  interview  in  a  deserted 
alley  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  as  the  writer  had  im- 
portant secrets  to  reveal  to  him.  After  some  hesita- 
tion, M.  Thiers  went  to  the  rendezvous,  and  there 
found  a  man  of  the  name  of  Deutz,  who  offered,  on 
condition  of  being  well  rewarded,  to  assist  the  govern- 
ment in  arresting  the  Princess.  This  man  had  been  in 
23 


854  THIERS^S    BISTORT    OF   THE 

the  service  of  the  Legitimists,  and  possessed  all  their 
secrets.  M.  Thiers  accepted  his  offer ;  and  a  few 
days  afterwards,  Deutz,  accompanied  by  a  police  offi- 
cer, left,  Paris  for  Nantes,  where  the  Duchess  then  was. 
He  there  sought  an  interview  with  her,  during  which  he 
again  assured  her  of  his  devotion  to  her  cause.  Hardly 
had  he  left  the  house,  however,  when  it  was  surrounded 
by  soldiers;  the  unfortunate  Duchess  was  arrested,  and 
Deutz  was  rewarded  for  his  base  treachery.  It  would 
be  transgressing  our  limits  to  enter  into  a  discussion  of 
the  question,  how  far  a  government  is  justified  in  taking 
advantage  of  the  crimes  of  a  subject  in  order  to  bene- 
fit the  state  ;  still  we  cannot  but  think,  that  the  govern- 
ment which  has  recourse  to  such  means  must  always 
lose  something  of  its  dignity,  and  lower  itself  in  the 
estimation  of  the  nation. 

We  cannot  follow  M.  Thiers  through  all  the  varied 
phases  of  his  political  life  ;  it  would  be  to  write  a  his- 
tory of  Louis  Philippe's  reign.  Up  to  the  close  of 
1840,  M,  Thiers  was  several  times  minister,  and  ren- 
dered eminent  services  to  his  country.  The  last  cabi- 
net of  which  he  was  a  member  was  that  of  the  1st  of 
March,  1840,  during  which  France  was  nearly  involved 
in  a  European  war  on  the  Oriental  question,  one  of 
the  most  interesting  diplomatic  problems  that  had  arisen 
for  many  years.  This  is  not  the  place  to  examine 
the  political  course  pursued  by  M.  Thiers  at  that  time. 
We  would  only  say  that  whatever  may  be  thought  of 
its  prudence,  it  was  a  patriotic  one.  The  king  at  first 
favored  it,  thinking  thereby  to  acquire  popularity ;  but 
finding  that  it  would  necessarily  lead  to  a  war  with  the 
great  powers  of  Europe,  he  abandoned  his  minister  at 


CONSULATE    AND    THE    EMPIRE.  355 

the  eve  of  the  opening  of  the  Chambers,  and  called  to 
his  councils  M.  Guizot.  M.  Thiers  at  once  passed  to 
the  ranks  of  the  opposition,  in  which  he  continued 
until  the  downfall  of  the  king,  though  occasionally  de- 
fending govefnment  measures,  such  as  the  regency  bill, 
and  the  bill  for  fortifying  Paris,  when  he  considered 
them  as  important  to  the  maintenance  of  the  throne  he 
had  assisted  in  establishing. 

It  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  the  reputation  of  Thiers 
as  an  historian,  that  he  should  have  been  obliged  to 
leave  the  ministry ;  for  he  thus  acquired  leisure  to  de^ 
vote  himself  to  the  composition  of  the  great  work  of 
which  we  are  now  to  speak.  The  first  volume  of  the 
history  of  the  Consulate  and  the  Empire  was  published 
in  18l5  ;  and  the  author  has  found  time  to  publish  nine 
other  volumes,  in  spite  of  the  active  part  he  has  taken 
in  the  debates  of  the  legislative  bodies  of  which  he  has 
been  a  member.  This  prodigious  activity  of  mind,  and 
the  facility  with  which  he  passes  from  one  subject  to 
another,  are  among  his  most  remarkable  qualities.  At 
onli  time,  he  may  be  found  defending  at  the  tribune  the 
political  doctrines  of  his  party  ;  at  another  maintaining, 
as  in  his  work  on  property,  the  fundamental  principles 
on  which  society  rests.  Yet  he  finds  time  to  collect 
the  materials  for  his  great  work,  and  to  continue  its 
composition,  not  only  examining  attentively  the  docu- 
ments contained  in  the  archives,  and  innumerable  pri- 
vate memoirs,  and  questioning  such  of  the  actors  in  the 
memorable  scenes  which  he  describes  as  still  survive', 
but  visiting  the  great  battle-fields,  Marengo,  Ulm,  Aus^- 
terlitz,  Jena,  Wagram,  etc.,  of  which  he  has  given  such 
admirable  and  glowing  descriptions.    From  his  position^ 


866  THIERS'S    HISTORY    OF    THE 

both  as  an  eminent  politician  and  a  distinguished 
author,  he  has,  of  course,  had  great  facilities  for  the 
preparation  of  his  work.  Unpublished  memoirs,  fam- 
ily papers,  public  documents,  all  have  been  alike  ac- 
cessible to  him.  There  are  but  few  published  works  of 
high  authority  on  the  period  which  he  has  treated. 
Except  the  Memoirs  of  Napoleon  himself,  which  of 
course  throw  much  light  on  his  administration  and  his 
campaigns,  and  those  of  General  Jomini,  the  Dukes  of 
Gaeto,  Rovigo,  and  Albufera,  and  the  interesting  work 
of  Thibaudeau  on  the  Consulate,  there  has  been  but 
little  published  which  could  be  of  much  use  to  any  one 
writing  such  a  work  as  that  of  Thiers.  But  the  manu- 
script memoirs  of  Jourdan,  Macdonald,  Davoust,  Cara- 
baceres,  etc.,  have  been  of  inestimable  value  to  him. 

There  is,  perhaps,  another  source,  more  available 
than  any  of  those  mentioned  ;  we  mean  the  correspon- 
dence of  Napoleon  with  his  generals  and  ministers,  or 
diplomatic  agents.  Five  or  six  marshals  usually  com- 
manded an  army  under  his  orders,  and  of  course  were 
constantly  writing  to  him  to  inform  him  of  their  move- 
ments, to  announce  an  encounter  with  the  enemy,  or  to 
give  an  account  of  the  condition  and  disposition  of  the 
troops  under  their  command.  Napoleon,  in  his  an- 
swers, expressed  his  wishes  and  plans,  his  opinions,  his 
approbation  or  disapprobation  of  what  had  been  done. 
The  same  sort  of  relations  existed  between  the  Em- 
peror and  the  other  branches  of  the  administration. 
Napoleon,  indeed,  was  so  much  in  the  habit  of  giving 
his  instructions  in  writing,  that  it  was  only  when  in 
presence  of  the  enemy,  and  when  there  was  danger  of 
any  written  communication  being  intercepted,  that  he 


CONSULATE    AND   THE    EMPIRE.  357 

gave  them  verbally.  Even  when  in  Paris,  he  commu- 
nicated almost  entirely  in  writing  with  his  ministers. 
He  dictated,  with  astonishing  rapidity,  sometimes  a 
hundred  letters  a  day,  on  the  most  varied  topics.  As 
an  instance  of  this,  when  at  Osterode,  in  Poland,  in 
1807,  he  wrote  on  the  same  day  to  the  Minister  of 
Police  at  Paris,  concerning  those  persons  whom  he  was 
to  watch  with  special  care  ;  to  Cambaceres,  about  the 
affairs  of  the  Council  of  State  ;  to  Joseph,  King  of 
Naples,  and  to  Louis,  King  of  Holland,  on  the  art  of 
governing  new  subjects ;  to  Madame  Campan,  on  fe- 
male education  ;  Murat,  on  the  organization  of  the  cav- 
alry ;  and  to  M.  BerthoUet,  for  whom  he  had  much 
regard,  for  the  purpose  of  sending  him  fifteen  thou- 
sand francs  to  enable  him  to  settle  his  private  affairs. 
There  exist  in  Paris  no  less  than  forty  thousand  letters 
or  oi'ders  signed  by  him.  All  these  documents  were 
kept  among  his  private  papers.  In  1814,  the  Bour- 
bons, not  knowing  what  to  do  with  this  mass  of  papers, 
had  them  transported  to  the  Louvre,  where  they  still 
remain.  It  may  readily  be  imagined  what  interest  they 
must  possess  for  the  historian  of  that  period,  and  what 
additional  value  they  must  lend  to  his  writings. 

Yet,  in  the  hands  of  an  ordinary  writer,  even  such 
materials  would  be  of  little  value.  Without  a  master- 
mind to  select  and  arrange  them,  to  distinguish  what  is 
important  from  the  unimportant,  to  ascertain  when 
credit  is  to  be  given  to  them,  or  when  they  are  to  be 
rejected  as  untrustworthy,  they  would  form  but  an  un- 
digested and  confused  mass  devoid  of  interest.  In 
order  to  be  made  generally  useful,  they  could  not  have 
fallen  into  better  hands  than  those  of  Thiers.     He  has 


358  THIERS'S   HISTORY    OF    THE 

become  penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  all  these  docu- 
ments, rather  than  with  their  details ;  he  never  says 
more  than  he  ought  on  any  subject,  and  the  abundance 
of  his  materials  never  tempts  him  to  overstep  the  limits 
of  history.  The  work,  indeed,  is  composed  with  all 
the  severity  which  the  importance  and  grandeur  of  the 
subject  demand.  The  manner  in  which  the  different 
parts  are  arranged  is  admirable.  Each  book  bears  the 
title  of  the  principal  event  or  subject  of  which  it  treats, 
and  around  it  arc  grouped  with  infinite  art  the  minor 
events  or  circumstances  which  have  a  natural  bearing 
on  it.  This  arrangement  is  so  simple,  that,  at  first,  the 
reader  is  not  aware  how  much  it  contributes  to  the 
pleasure  which  the  book  affords  and  to  the  ease  with 
which  he  reads  it.  Nothing  is  easier  than  to  make  a 
general  division  of  a  subject  according  to  this  method ; 
the  great  art  consists  in  selecting,  among  the  minor  de- 
tails, those  which  belong  more  especially  to  a  certain 
part  of  the  subject.  The  art  of  thus  presenting  the 
events  which  he  relates  in  their  most  logical  order  and 
connection  is  one  of  the  great  merits  of  this  work,  and 
shows  at  once  that  the  historian  has  taken  a  part  in  the 
active  life  of  a  statesman.  It  is  only  by  this  means  that 
one  is  enabled  to  take  a  comprehensive  view  of  a  his- 
torical subject,  and  to  see  at  a  glance  the  relations 
which  exist  between  its  different  parts.  Any  one  can 
be  methodical  by  simply  following  the  external  order  of 
events ;  to  be  clear  and  logical,  it  is  necessary  that  they 
should  be  presented  in  their  more  philosophical  and 
iess  apparent  connection. 

The    history  of  the  Consulate  and   Empire  begins 
at  the  point  where  that  of  the  Revolution  ended  ;  the 


CONSULATE   AND  THE   EMPIRE.  359 

coup  d^etat  of  the  18th  Brumairc.  The  author's  only 
allusion  to  himself  is  at  the  beginning  of  the  work,  in 
the  following  simple  words. 

'  Fifteen  years  have  elapsed  since  I  traced  the  annals  of  our 
first  Resolution.  Those  fifteen  years  have  been  passed  amidst 
the  storms  of  public  life.  I  have  seen  the  fall  of  an  ancient 
throne,  the  erection  of  a  new  one.  I  have  seen  the  French  Rev- 
olution pursuing  its  invincible  course.  Although  the  scenes 
which  I  have  witnessed  have  caused  me  but  little  surprise,  I  have 
not  the  vanity  to  suppose  that  I  had  nothing  to  learn  from  the 
experience  of  men  and  affairs.  I  am  confident,  on  the  contrary, 
of  having  learnt  much,  and  of  being,  consequently,  more  fit  to 
understand  and  to  relate  the  great  things  which  our  fathers  did 
during  those  heroic  times.  But  I  am  certain  that  experience  has 
not  chilled  within  me  the  generous  sentiments  of  my  youth ;  I 
am  certain  that  I  love  as  much  as  I  ever  did  the  liberty  and  glory 
of  France.' 

It  is,  of  course,  not  our  intention  to  give  an  analysis 
of  this  work.  To  do  so  would  be  but  to  present  the 
outline  of  a  history  with  which  every  one  is  familiar. 
We  may  better  meet  our  readers'  views  by  considering 
one  or  more  of  the  topics  of  which  he  treats.  To  us, 
the  most  attractive  portions  of  this  work  are  those  in 
which  questions  of  internal  policy  and  of  diplomacy 
are  treated.  The  narratives  of  those  great  campaigns 
in  which  France  acquired  everlasting  renown  are  admi- 
rably written ;  they  present  the  details  of  the  subject 
with  a  clearness  and  force  which  could  hardly  be  ex- 
pected from  any  but  a  military  man  ;  they  not  unfre- 
quently  are  highly  eloquent.  But  however  captivating 
they  may  be,  it  is  not  in  them  that  we  seek  for  the  true 
interest  of  history.  We  turn  to  those  portions  of  the 
work  in  which  the  author  explains  the  internal  organi- 


860  THIERS'S   HISTORY    OF    THE 

zation  of  France,  the  complicated  negotiations  which 
ended  in  the  signing  of  the  Concordat,  or  the  dissen- 
sions in  the  Council  previous  to  the  promulgation  of  the 
Code  Napoleon.  In  these,  the  true  greatness  of  Napo- 
leon is  revealed.  Glorious  as  was  his  military  career, 
we  believe  that  he  showed  more  real  greatness  and 
power  as  a  legislator  and  administrator  of  France,  than 
as  the  hero  of  Marengo  or  Austerlitz.  It  is  often  said 
in  disparagement  of  Napoleon,  that  he  founded  nothing. 
Even  M.  de  Lamartine,  in  his  recent  history  of  the 
Restoration  —  if  a  political  pamphlet,  written  to  defeat 
the  ambitious  schemes  of  the  President  of  France,  may 
be  called  a  history  —  repeats  this  old  and  absurd  cal- 
umny. Of  his  conquests,  nothing,  it  is  true,  remains. 
Like  a  mighty  river,  which,  after  it  has  overflowed  and 
devastated  large  tracts  of  country,  is  obliged,  by  that  in- 
visible power  which  said  to  the  waters,  '  Thus  far  shalt 
thou  go,  and  no  farther,'  to  return  to  its  ancient  bed,  so 
France,  after  having  overrun  the  greater  part  of  the 
European  continent,  was  compelled,  by  that  same 
power,  to  confine  itself  within  its  former  limits.  But 
if  nothing  is  left  of  the  territorial  conquests  of  Napo- 
leon, the  internal  administration  of  France,  the  Code, 
the  many  establishments  founded  by  him  for  scientific 
or  literary  purposes,  the  magnificent  buildings  which 
he  caused  to  be  erected,  still  remain  as  monuments  of 
his  genius.  As  a  military  man,  he  probably  has  had 
equals.  Hannibal,  Cajsar,  or  Frederic  may  compete 
with  him  ;  but  as  a  man,  combining  military  talents  of 
the  highest  order  with  the  wisdom  of  a  statesman,  a 
legislator,  and  a  sovereign,  he  stands  alone  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world. 


CONSULATE    AND    THE    EMPIRE.  361 

It  required,  indeed,  a  genius  like  that  of  Napoleon, 
to  reorganize  France  after  the  convulsions  through 
which  she  had  passed.  When  he  was  appointed  First 
Consul,  every  thing  was  in  confusion  ;  the  country  waq.; 
impoverished,  the  administration  weak  and  divided,  the 
judiciary  badly  organized.  The  first  thing  to  be  done, 
then,  was  to  remedy  these  evils.  Accordingly,  as  soon 
as  the  legislative  bodies  established  by  the  new  consti- 
tution had  commenced  their  labors,  he  proposed  to 
them  two  bills  of  the  greatest  importance, — the  one 
relating  to  the  administration  of  the  country,  the  other 
for  the  reorganization  of  the  judicial^.  These  bills 
were  passed  by  a  large  majority,  and  thus  was  estab- 
lished a  system  which  has  resisted  all  the  storms  by 
which  France  has  since  been  agitated.  In  establishing 
the  new  system.  Napoleon's  object  was  to  form  a 
strong  central  government,  on  which  the  departmental 
administrations  should  be  almost  wholly  dependent. 
The  constitution  had  placed  at  the  head  of  the  state 
an  executive,  formed  of  three  consuls,  in  one  of  whom 
all  the  power  was  in  reality  vested  ;  by  the  side  of  this 
executive  was  the  legislative  power,  divided  into  seve- 
ral deliberative  assemblies.  So,  at  the  head  of  each 
department.  Napoleon  placed  an  executive  officer  ap- 
pointed by  the  government,  called  a  prefect,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  execute  the  ordets  of  the  general  gov- 
ernment, and,  at  the  same  time,  to  administer  the 
affairs  of  the  department  with  the  advice  and  consent 
of  a  council  elected  by  the  people.  Each  department 
was  divided  into  arrondissements  and  communes.  At 
the  head  of  each  arrondissement,  composed  of  a  cer- 
tain number  of  communes,  was  placed  a  sub-prefect. 


THIERS'S   HISTORY   OF    THE 

Finally,  at  the  head  of  the  commune  itself  was  a  maire, 
dependent,  like  the  sub-prefect,  on  the  prefect,  and 
consequently  on  the  head  of  the  state  in  all  govern- 
lipient  affairs,  but  the  agent  of  the  commune  itself,  and 
acting  for  it,  with  the  advice  of  the  municipal  council, 
in  all  matters  that  related  exclusively  to  it.  '  Such,' 
says  M.  Thiers,  '  is  the  admirable  hierarchy  to  which 
France  owes  an  administration  incomparable  for  en- 
ergy and  precision  in  its  action,  for  the  accuracy  of  its 
accounts,  and  which  is  so  excellent  that  it  sufficed,  in 
six  months,  to  reestablish  order  in  France.' 

It  cannot  be  denied,  that,  for  the  object  which  Napo- 
leon had  in  view,  —  that  of  establishing  a  strong  gov- 
ernment,—  nothing  could  have  been  more  wisely  plan- 
ned than  this  system.  That  it  should  have  taken  so 
firm  root  in  the  country  as  to  form,  at  the  present  day, 
one  of  the  most  serious  obstacles  to  the  establishment 
of  a  republic  which  may  truly  deserve  the  name  it 
bears,  seems  to  be  a  strong  proof  of  that  admirable 
knowledge,  or  rather  intuition,  which  Napoleon  pos- 
sessed of  the  wants  of  the  French  nation.  Yet  the 
pernicious  consequences  of  such  a  system  are  too  nu- 
merous to  be  overlooked.  The  whole  nation  is  kept  in 
a  state  of  constant  dependence  on  government.  The 
Minister  of  the  Interior  and  the  Council  of  State,  in 
fact,  decided  on  all  the  internal  affairs  of  the  various 
departments  throughout  France.  A  mine  cannot  be 
explored,  a  marsh  drained,  a  road  laid  out,  or  a  factory 
built,  without  the  authority  of  the  minister  and  council. 
The  people  came  at  last  to  look  to  government  for  pro- 
tection and  assistance  on  every  occasion ;  and  in  order 
to  enable  the  government  to  grant  such  assistance  and 


CONiSULATE    AND    THE    EMPIRE.  363 

protection,  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  wield  a  power 
nearly  akin  to  despotism.  For  Napoleon's  object,  this 
was  desirable  ;  but  now  that  France  is  seeking  to  estab- 
lish a  republic,  this  system  is  found  to  clash  with  its^ 
desire  and  to  prevent  its  fulfilment.  The  system  is, 
indeed,  fit  only  for  a  monarchical  form  of  government. 
It  commences  with  the  head  of  the  administration,  to 
be  called  consul,  emperor,  or  king,  —  it  matters  little. 
He  is  the  type  to  be  reproduced  through  all  the  differ- 
ent stages  of  the  administrative  scale  ;  in  the  prefect,  the 
sub-prefect,  and  the  mayor.  The  republican  system 
is  entirely  different.  Instead  of  commencing  with  the 
head  of  the  government,  and  descending  to  the  inferior 
executive  officers,  the  republican  hierarchy  —  if  we 
take  our  own  republic  as  the  model  —  may  be  said  to 
commence  at  the  bottom  of  the  scale,  with  the  town 
governments ;  thence  it  rises  to  the  state  governments, 
and  finally  ascends  to  the  chief  magistrate.  Before  a 
republican  government  can  be  firmly  established  in 
France,  she  will  have  to  modify  her  whole  administra- 
tive system.  These  remarks  must  not  be  understood 
as  detracting  from  the  merit  of  Napoleon  in  organizing 
the  administration  as  he  did  ;  for,  as  we  have  already 
said,  nothing  could  be  better  conceived  for  the  object 
which  he  desired  to  accomplish. 

The  reorganization  of  the  judicial  system  proposed 
by  Napoleon,  and  adopted  by  the  legislature,  is  not 
open  to  any  of  the  objections  we  have  suggested  against 
the  administrative  system.  In  each  arrondissement 
was  established  a  court  called  Tribunal  de  premiere 
Instance,  from  which  there  was  an  appeal  to  a  superior 
tribunal,  called  the  Tribunal  d''Appel,  of  which  twenty- 


364  THIEHS'S    HISTORY   OF   THE 

nine  \\-ere  established.  Criminal  causes  were  to  be 
tried  by  juries,  and  by  one  of  the  judges  of  the  Cour 
d''Appel,  thus  forming  wlmt  was  called  a  Cour  (V As- 
sises. At  the  summit  of  the  whole  judicial  system  was 
to  be  maintained  the  Cour  de  Cassation^  which  had  al- 
ready been  established.  The  object  of  this  tribunal 
was  not  to  try  again  a  cause  already  tried  by  the  Tri' 
bunal  de  premiere  Instance,  or  the  Cour  d^Appel,  but 
merely  to  decide,  in  doubtful  cases,  whether  the  law 
had  been  properly  applied.  This  system  has  been 
maintained  in  France,  with  slight  modifications,  ever 
since  its  adoption  in  1800,  and  has  been  found  admira- 
bly adapted  to  the  wants  of  the  nation.  Several  other 
important  laws  were  at  the  same  time  proposed,  in 
order  to  improve  the  financial  condition  of  the  country  ; 
and,  among  other  measures  taken  to  secure  this  end, 
we  may  mention  the  establishment  of  the  Bank  of 
France,  with  a  capital  of  thirty  millions. 

But  we  must  refer  the  reader  to  the  work  itself,  if 
he  would  have  a  complete  idea  of  all  the  measures 
adopted  at  that  time,  for  the  purpose  of  restoring  order 
in  a  country  so  thoroughly  disorganized  as  was  Franco 
after  the  storms  of  her  Revolution.  It  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  analyze  his  clear,  and  at  the  same  time  con- 
densed, account  of  that  wonderful  period.  Napoleon 
was  wise  in  devoting  his  first  thoughts  to  the  reorgan- 
ization of  the  country ;  for  hardly  had  the  essential 
measures  which  he  proposed  been  adopted,  hardly  had 
he  put  an  end  to  the  civil  commotions  which  were  still 
raging  in  Vendee,  when  war  once  more  broke  out. 
We  shall  not  attempt  to  follow  M.  Thiers  in  his  de- 
scriptions of  the  battles  of  Ulm,  Genoa,  Marengo,  Heli- 


CONSULATE    AND   THE    EMPIRE.  365 

copolis,  and  Hohenlinden,  or  in  his  acount  of  the  peace 
of  Lunevilte,  the  armed  neutrality  of  the  maritime 
powers,  or  the  negotiations  which  led  to  the  peace  of 
Amiens,  and  finally  to  the  general  peace  of  1801. 
We  cannot,  however,  resist  the  pleasure  of  translating 
the  eloquent  passage  by  which  the  historian  closes  the 
account  of  the  effect  produced  in  England  by  the  news 
of  the  peace. 

*  During  this  period,  unfortunately  so  brief,  the  English  nation 
almost  thought  they  loved  France ;  they  admired  the  hero  and 
statesman  by  whom  she  Avas  governed ;  they  cried  with  enthusi- 
asm, "  Long  live  Bonaparte."  Such  is  liuman  joy  !  it  is  great 
and  deep  only  when  we  are  ignorant  of  the  future.  Let  us  thank 
God  for  his  wisdom  in  closing  to  the  eye  of  man  the  book  of  des- 
tiny. How  every  heart  would  have  been  chilled  on  that  day,  if 
the  veil  which  concealed  the  future  had  suddenly  dropped,  and 
the  English  and  French  had  seen  before  them  fifteen  years  of 
implacable  hatred  and  bitter  war,  the  continent  and  the  seas  red 
with  the  blood  of  both  nations  !  How  terrified  would  France 
have  been,  if,  while  she  believed  herself  so  great,  she  had  dimly 
seen  in  that  formidable  book  of  destiny  the  treaties  of  1815! 
And  that  hero,  victorious  and  moderate  as  he  was,  what  would 
have  been  his  surprise  and  terror,  if,  in  the  midst  of  his  greatest 
works,  lie  could  have  foreseen  his  immense  errors;  if,  in  the 
midst  of  unmingled  prosperity,  he  could  have  anticipated  his 
downfiill  and  his  martyrdom  !  Oh  yes  I  Providence  has  done 
well,  in  his  impenetrable  wisdom,  to  disclose  only  the  present  to 
man.  The  present  is  enough  for  his  weakness.  And  we,  who 
know  all  that  then  happened,  and  what  has  since  happened,  let 
us  try,  for  a  moment,  to  revive  the  ignorance  of  that  period,  in 
order  to  understand  and  to  share  its  deep  emotions.' 

Having  thus  made  peace  with  all  the  temporal  pow- 
ers of  Europe,  Napoleon  turned  his  attention  to  the 
affairs  of  the  Church,  and  commenced  those  negotia- 


366  THIERS'S   HISTORY    OF   THE 

tions  which  ended  by  the  signing  of  the  Concordat, 
and  the  reestablishment  in  France  of  the  Catholic 
Church. 

•  The  views  of  the  First  Consul  on  the  constitution  of  society,' 
says  our  author,  in  one  of  the  finest  passages  of  his  book,  '  were 
too  just  and  too  profound  for  him  to  regard  with  indifVcrcTice  the 
religious  disorders  of  France  at  that  period.  Every  human  soci- 
ety needs  a  religious  faith  and  a  public  worship.  Man,  thrown 
into  the  midst  of  this  universe,  without  knowing  whence  he  comes 
or  whither  lie  is  going,  why  he  suffers,  or  even  wliy  lie  exists, 
what  recompense  or  what  punishment  is  reserved  for  the  long 
agitations  of  his  life,  beset  by  the  contnwlictions  of  his  fellow-men, 
who  tell  him,  some,  that  there  is  a  God,  an  intelligent  and  con- 
sistent Beingr,  author  of  all  things,  others,  that  there  is  none  ; 
some,  that  there  exist  a  right  and  a  wrong,  which  are  to  serve 
as  the  rule  of  his  conduct;  others,  that  there  is  neither  right 
nor  wrong,  that  they  are  merely  inventions  of  this  world,  —  man, 
in  the  midst  of  these  contradictions,  feels  the  absolute,  tlie  irre- 
sistible, necessity  of  forming  a  firm  belief  on  all  these  points. 
Be  it  true  or  false,  sublime  or  ridiculous,  he  forms  one.  Ev- 
ery where,  at  all  times,  in  all  countries,  in  antiquity  as  in 
modern  times,  in  civilized  as  in  barbarous  countries,  man  is 
found  bowing  before  some  altar.  Where  an  establislied  faith 
does  not  reign,  a  thousand  sects,  eager  for  controversy,  as 
in  America,  —  a  thousand  disgraceful  superstitions,  as  in 
China, — agitate  or  degrade  the  human  mind.  Or  if,  as  in 
France  in  ".)3,  a  passing  revolution  destroys  the  ancient  religion 
of  the  country,  man,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  h:is  talien  a 
vow  no  longer  to  have  any  belief,  soon  gives  himself  the  lie,  and 
the  insensate  worsliip  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason,  establislied  by 
the  very  side  of  the  scaffold,  proves  that  tiiis  vow  was  as  vain  as 
it  was  impious.  To  judge  him,  then,  by  his  ordinary  conduct, 
man  needs  a  religious  belief.  What  can  be  more  desirable  for  a 
civilized  society  than  a  national  religion  founded  on  the  true  sen- 
timents of  the  human  heart;  according  with  the  precepts  of  a 
pure  morality;  consecrate<l  by  lime;  and  which,  witiiout  intoler- 
ance or  persecution,  may  unite,  if  not  all,  at  least  tiie  majority, 
of  the  citizens  at  the  foot  of   an  ancient  and  respected  altar  ? 


CONSULATE    AND   THE    EMPIRE.  367 

Such  a  belief  cannot  be  indented,  where  it  has  not  existed  for 
ages.  Philosophers,  even  the  most  sublime,  may  create  a  philos- 
ophy, and  agitate,  by  their  learning,  the  age  to  which  they  do 
honor ;  ihey  may  make  you  think,  they  cannot  make  you  believe. 
A  warrior,  covered  with  glory,  may  found  an  empire;  he  cannot 
found  a  religion.  That,  in  former  ages,  philosophers  or  heroes, 
by  attributing  to  themselves  relations  with  heaven,  have  taken 
possession  of  the  mind  of  nations,  and  imposed  a  belief  upon 
them,  may  be  true.  But  in  modern  times,  the  creator  of  a  new 
religion  would  be  held  as  an  impostor.  Surrounded  by  terror, 
like  Robespierre,  or  by  glory,  like  Bonaparte,  he  would  be  an 
object  of  ridicule.     In  1800,  there  was  nothing  to  invent. 

'  What  could  be  more  necessary  than  to  raise  again  that  altar 
of  St.  Louis,  of  Charlemagne,  and  of  Clovis,  for  a  monient  over- 
thrown ?  General  Bonaparte,  who  would  have  been  ridiculous 
if  he  had  attempted  to  appear  as  a  prophet  and  the  teacher  of  a 
new  revelation,  was  fulfilling  the  part  which  Providence  assigned 
him,  by  raising  with  his  victorious  hands  that  venerable  altar, 
and  by  bringing  back  to  it  those  who  for  a  short  time  had  strayed 
away.  Only  such  glory  as  his  could  have  sufficed  for  such  a 
work.  Great  geniuses,  not  only  among  philosophers,  but  among 
kings,  like  Voltaire  and  Frederic,  had  thrown  contempt  on  the 
Catholic  religion,  and  for  fifty  years  given  the  signal  for  scoffing. 
General  Bonaparte,  who  had  as  much  mind  as  Voltaire,  and 
more  glory  than  Frederic,  could  alone,  by  his  example  and  by 
his  respect,  put  an  end  to  the  mockery  of  the  last  centuiy. 

'  Is  it  necessary  with  such  motives  as  those  which  guided  him, 
to  inquire  whether  he  acted  from  religions  faith,  or  from  policy 
and  ambition  ?  He  acted  from  wisdom  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  virtue 
of  a  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature.  That  suffices.  The 
rest  is  a  mystery  which  curiosity,  always  natural  with  regard  to 
a  great  man,  may  seek  to  penetrate,  but  which  is  of  little  im- 
portance. We  may,  however,  say  on  this  subject,  that  General 
Bonaparte's  moral  constitution  inclined  him  towards  religious 
thoughts.  A  superior  mind  is  struck,  in  proportion  with  its  su- 
periority, with  the  beauties  of  creation.  It  is  intelligence  which 
discovers  intelligence  in  the  universe ;  and  a  great  mind  is  more 
capable  than  a  little  one  of  seeing  God  through  his  works.     Gen- 


kt'' 


3G8  THIERS'S   HISTORY    OF   THE 

eral  Bonaparte  frequently  disputed  on  religious  and  philosophi- 
cal subjects  with  Monge,  Lagrange,  and  Laplace,  men  whom  he 
honored  and  loved,  and  often  staggered  them  in  their  incredulity 
by  the  clearness  and  original  vigor  of  his  arguments.  To  this, 
we  must  add,  that  brought  up  in  an  uncultivated  and  religious 
country,  under  the  eye  of  a  pious  mother,  the  sight  of  the  old 
Catholic  altar  awakened  in  him  recollections  of  youth,  always  so 
powerful  in  a  lively  and  great  imagination.  As  for  ambition, 
which  some  of  his  detractors  have  assigned  as  the  sole  motive  of 
his  conduct  on  this  occasion,  he  at  that  time  had  none  other  thaa 
to  do  good  ;  and  without  doubt,  if  he  saw,  as  a  recompense  of 
tliis  good  when  accomplished,  an  increase  of  power,  he  may  well 
be  pardoned  for  it.  The  ambition  which  seeks  to  found  an  em- 
pire on  the  satisftvction  of  the  true  wants  of  a  people,  is  the  most 
noble  and  legitimate  ambition.' 

Of  all  the  plans  which  the  First  Consul  had  formed 
for  the  regeneration  of  France,  none  was  more  diffi- 
cult to  realize  than  this  reconciliation  with  the  church. 
At  the  time  of  the  adoption  of  the  new  constitution, 
the  utmost  confusion  reigned  throughout  the  country 
with  regard  to  religion.  The  Catholic  religion  was,  it 
is  true,  tolerated ;  but  the  members  of  the  clergy  were 
divided  among  themselves.  Some  of  them  had  taken 
an  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  civil  constitution  ;  others 
had  merely  sworn  obedience  to  the  laws ;  others, 
again,  had  refused  all  connection  with  the  government. 
The  two  former  classes  alone  were  allowed  to  perform 
mass  in  the  churches;  the  latter  officiated  in  private 
houses,  and  were,  by  all  those  who  kept  up  their 
ancient  opposition  to  all  revolutionary  governments, 
regarded  as  the  only  true  ministers  of  the  Catliolic 
church.  To  complete  tlje  disorder  caused  by  these  di- 
visions in  the  church  itself,  the  sect  of  the  Theophilan- 
thropists  had  taken  possession  of  the  vacant  churches, 


CONSULATE   AND   THE    EMPIRE.  369 

where  they  performed  ceremonies  in  honor  of  the  va- 
rious virtues,  —  courage,  temperance,  charity,  etc. 
The  frequent  imitations  of  Catholicism  to  be  found  in 
the  ritual  of  that  sect,  whilst  it  was  striving  to  establish 
a  new  religion,  would  be  simply  ridiculous,  were  it  not 
that  the  subject  is  one  of  such  serious  importance. 
Such  was  the  religious  state  of  the  country  in  1800. 
Napoleon  resolved  to  deliver  it  from  this  condition. 
That  he  should  have  succeeded  in  the  attempt,  in  spite 
of  the  opposition  with  which  his  views  on  the  subject 
were  met  by  the  leading  men  who  surrounded  him,  and 
who  feared  that,  by  making  any  compromise  with 
Rome,  the  government  would  lose  something  of  its  dig- 
nity, must  be  considered  as  one  of  his  greatest  achieve- 
ments. There  was,  indeed,  no  absurd  proposition  that 
he  was  not  obliged  to  listen  to  and  to  combat.  Some 
proposed  that  he  should  make  himself  the  head  of  a 
French  church ;  others  advised  him  to  embrace  the 
Protestant  faith,  and  to  lead  France  to  Protestantism 
by  his  example ;  others,  again,  entreated  him  not  to 
meddle  with  the  religious  affairs  of  the  country.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  interesting  than  the  discussions  of 
Napoleon,  as  they  are  given  by  Thiers,  with  those  who 
thus  sought  to  turn  him  from  his  purpose.  Napoleon 
was,  indeed,  the  only  man  in  the  French  government 
who  really  wished  for  the  reestablishment  of  Catholi- 
cism in  France.  This  was  well  understood  at  Rome. 
'  Let  us  not  irritate  that  man,'  said  Cardinal  Caprara  to 
the  Pope  ;  '  he  alone  is  on  our  side  in  a  country  where 
every  one  else  is  against  us.' 

But  it  was  not  only  in  France  that  the  First  Consul 
encountered  opposition  to  the  realization  of  his  wishes. 
24 


370  THIKES'S    HISTORY   OF   THE 

The  plan  which  he  proposed  for  the  reconciliation  of 
France  with  the  Church  of  Rome  was  much  discussed  at 
Rome  itself;  and  it  was  not  until  after  long  and  ardu- 
ous negotiations,  that  Napoleon  succeeded  in  having  it 
adopted.  He  undertook  to  bring  about  this  reconciliation 
without  sacrificing  any  of  the  principles  of  the  Revolu- 
tion.    The  clergy  was  to  be  reestablished,  not  on  the 
sanne  terms  on  which  it  had  existed  prior  to  '89,  but  on 
an  entirely  new  basis.     It  was  to  be  exclusively  de- 
voted to  the  exercise  of   its  religious  functions  ;  it  was 
to  have  neither  political  power,  nor  large  domains ;  its 
members  were  to  be  appointed  by  the  government  and 
confirmed  by  the  Pope ;  they  were  to  receive  their  sal- 
ary from  the  state.     The  number  of  dioceses  was  to 
be  reduced  ;  the  civil  authorities  were  to  have  the  con- 
trol of  public  worship  ;  the  jurisdiction  over  the  clergy 
was  to  belong  to  the  Council  of  State.     Such  were  the 
principal  measures  proposed   by  Napoleon.     The  one 
which  he  found   it  most  difficult  to  prevail  upon  the 
Pope  to  adopt,  was  that  relating  to  the  dioceses.     By 
reducing  their  number,  many  of  the  former  occupants 
of  the  episcopal  sees  would   be  obliged  to  resign  their 
functions,  or  to  be  dismissed  by  the  Pope,  —  a  thing 
unheard  of  in  the  annals  of  the  church.     Napoleon,  by 
his  indomitable  will,  gained  his  point.     He  had,  too,  it 
must  be  confessed,  a  great  advantage  over  the  court 
of  Rome.     Being,  as  we  have  said,  the  only  member 
of  the  government  who  favored  the  reconciliation  with 
the  church,  he  knew  that  Rome  ought  to  yield   to  his 
desires.     Nor  was  this  feeling  concealed  from  those 
with  whom  he  negotiated.     One  day,  during  the  pro- 
tracted discussion  to  which  the  subject  gave  rise,  grow- 


CONSULATE   AND   THE    EMPIKE.  371 

ing  impatient  at  some  of  the  demands  of  the  papal 
legate,  '  Come,  Cardinal  Caprara, '  said  he,  '  do  you 
still  possess  the  power  of  performing  miracles  ?  do 
you  ?  If  so,  make  use  of  it ;  you  will  render  me  a 
great  service.  If  not,  leave  matters  to  me  ;  and  since 
1  am  reduced  to  human  means,  permit  me  to  act  as  I 
see  fit  to  save  the  church.' 

The  Concordat  was  signed  on  the  15th  of  July, 
1801,  but  was  not  finally  adopted  and  ratified  until  the 
following  spring.  On  the  18th  of  April,  1802,  the 
Concordat  was  solemnly  published  in  Paris,  and  the 
first  religious  ceremony  was  performed  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Notre  Dame.  This  great  act,  —  perhaps  the 
greatest  which  the  church  of  Rome  ever  adopted,  — 
was  thus  definitely  concluded.  To  complete  the  pacifi- 
cation of  France,  this  important  measure  was  followed 
by  the  law  recalling  the  banished  emigrants.  The 
next  subject  to  which  the  First  Consul  turned  his  atten- 
tion was  public  education.  A  law  on  this  subject  was 
drawn  up,  and  presented  to  the  Council  of  State,  who 
soon  after  adopted  it.  This  law,  with  some  modifica- 
tions, forms  the  basis  of  the  whole  educational  system 
of  France  as  it  still  exists. 

This  step  closed  the  long  series  of  measures  taken 
by  Napoleon  to  reorganize  France.  To  recompense 
him  for  the  services  he  had  rendered  the  country,  the 
nation  resolved  to  give  him  a  signal  mark  of  its  confi- 
dence, by  appointing  him  Consul  for  life,  with  the 
power  to  name  his  successor.  The  senate  waited  on 
him  in  a  body,  to  announce  to  him  the  new  honor 
which  had  been  conferred  on  him.  Bowing  to  the 
members  of  that  body,  he  replied  in  these  noble  words : 


972      THE  CONSULATE  AND  THE  EMPIRE. 

•  The  life  of  a  citizen  belongs  to  his  country.  The  French  na- 
tion wish  that  the  whole  of  mine  should  be  devoted  to  them.  I 
obey  their  will.  By  my  eflforts,  and  by  your  assietance,  citizens, 
by  the  confidence  and  the  wish  of  this  great  nation,  the  liberty, 
equality,  and  prosperity  of  France  will  be  protected  from  the 
caprices  of  fate,  or  the  uncertainty  of  the  future.  The  best  of 
nations  will  then  be  the  happiest,  as  it  is  worthy  of  being,  and 
its  happiness  will  contribute  to  that  of  the  whole  of  Europe. 
Satisfied,  then,  with  having  been  called  by  Him  from  whom  all 
kings  emanate,  to  bring  back  on  earth  order,  justice,  and  equal- 
ity, I  shall  hear  my  last  hour  strike  without  regret,  and  without 
uneasiness  as  to  the  opinion  of  future  generations.' 

To  close  this  period,  the  finest  in  Napoleon's  career, 
and  one  of  the  most  brilliant  in  the  world's  history,  we 
cannot  do  better  than  to  transcribe  the  eloquent  passage 
in  which  our  author  ends  the  third  volume  of  his  his- 
tory. 

•  Now,  if,  forgetting  what  has  since  happened,  we  imagine  for 
a  moment  this  Dictator,  necessary  at  that  time,  remaining  as 
moderate  as  he  was  great,  uniting  those  opposites  which  God,  it 
is  true,  had  never  before  united  in  one  man,  —  that  vigor  of 
genius  which  constitutes  the  great  Captain,  with  that  patience 
which  is  the  distinctive  characteristic  of  founders  of  empires,  — 
calming,  by  a  long  repose,  French  society  then  so  agitated,  and 
preparing  it  little  by  little  for  that  liberty,  the  honor  and  want  of 
society  ;  then,  after  having  rendered  France  so  great,  appeasing 
instead  of  irritating  the  jealousy  of  Europe,  changing  into  a  per- 
manent political  fact  the  negotiations  of  Amiens  and  Luncville, 
and  seeking  at  last,  no  matter  where,  the  most  worthy  successor, 
in  order  to  give  into  his  hands  this  reorganized  France,  prepared 
for  liberty,  —  what  man  would  ever  have  been  equal  to  him  ? 
But  such  a  man,  a  warrior  like  Caesar,  a  statesman  like  Augus- 
tus, and  virtuous  as  Marcus  Aurelius,  would  have  been  more 
than  a  man  ;  and  Providence  does  not  give  the  world  gods  to 
govern  it.' 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  LATE  DR.  WHEATON. 


In  the  brief  notice  of  the  late  Dr.  Wheaton,  which 
^as  given  in  the  columns  of  this  paper,  a  wish  was 
expressed  that  some 'more  extended  tribute  might  be 
paid  to  the  memory  of  one  who  had  been  so  long  an 
honored  and  respected  member  of  this  community.  It 
is  this  wish  we  would  attempt  to  fulfil,  although  we  feel 
but  too  deeply  how  insufficient  any  such  tribute  from 
us  must  be.  We  cannot  praise  the  deceased  as  we 
would  ;  we  cannot  transfer  to  these  columns  the  feel- 
ings of  affection  and  veneration  with  which  we  learned 
in  early  youth,  from  maternal  lips,  to  regard  him  ;  we 
cannot  say  how  entirely  those  feelings  were  confirmed 
during  the  few  years  it  was  our  privilege  to  know  him, 
for  fear  of  incurring  the  reproach  of  being  too  partial 
to  the  memory  of  so  near  a  relative.  Dr.  Wheaton's 
life,  like  that  of  most  men  who  have  passed  their  days 
in  the  active  exercise  of  one  of  the  most  arduous  of 
professions,  offers  but  few  events  to  be  narrated.  The 
record  of  the  lives  of  such  men  is  kept  by  their 
thoughts.  We  must,  therefore,  content  ourselves  with 
a  brief  sketch  of  his  life,  and  with  a  few  extracts  from 
his  own  writings,  trusting  that  these  will  be  sufficient 


374  MEMOIR    OF    THE 

evidence  of  his  remarkable  talents,  his  varied  learning, 
and  his  many  virtues. 

Levi  Wheaton  was  born  on  the  6th  of  February, 
1761,  in  a  house  in  Benefit  Street,  which,  until  within  a 
few  years,  was  still  standing.  In  1848,  it  was  removed 
to  the  lot  in  its  rear,  and  replaced  by  another  of  the 
same  size  and  model.  His  father,  Ephraim  Wheaton, 
was  the  great  grandson  of  Robert  Wheaton,  an  emi- 
grant from  Wales,  who  settled  in  Rehoboth  about  the 
year  1640.  Levi  first  went  to  school  to  John  Foster, 
afterwards  Judge  Foster,  of  whom  his  only  recollection 
.was  the  manner  in  which  he  ingeniously  avoided  flog- 
ging his  pupils,  by  compelling  the  offender  to  hold  both 
hands  clasped  back  of  his  neck,  and  thus  stand  forth 
'  a  fixed  figure  for  the  hand  of  scorn.'  The  next 
teacher  to  whom  he  went  was  Dr.  Arnold,  whose 
school  was  kept  in  a  house  which  may  still  be  seen  on 
the  corner  formed  by  the  junction  of  Benefit  Street 
with  Main  Street.  From  Dr.  Arnold's,  he  went  to 
George  Taylor's.  Here  his  precocious  talents  seem 
first  to  have  attracted  attention.  He  was  regarded  as 
the  most  clever  boy  in  the  school.  In  his  twelfth  year 
he  was  sent  to  the  grammar  school  of  Theodore  Foster, 
then  a  student  of  law,  and  afterwards  United  States* 
Senator.  Soon  after  his  admission  to  this  school,  it 
passed  under  the  superintendence  of  Ebenezer  David, 
under  whose  charge  Dr.  Wheaton  was  wont  to  say,  he 
had  been  more  studious  than  at  any  other  period,  and 
for  whom  he  retained,  until  the  close  of  his  life,  the 
warmest  feelings  of  attachment.  In  the  year  1774  he 
entered  Rhode  Island  College,  where  he  did  not  receive 
his  degree  until  1782,  although,  owing  to  the  agitations 


LATE    DR.    WHEATON.  375 

of  the  times,  he  left  it  in  1776.  His  class  consisted  of 
sixteen,  only  one  of  whom  —  William  Wilkinson,  of 
this  city  —  still  survives.  Rhode  Island  College  was 
then  in  its  infancy.  Dr.  James  Manning  and  Professor 
Howell,  who  may  be  said  to  have  been  its  founders, 
were  then  acting  as  tutors,  with  the  sole  assistance  of 
one  meipber  of  the  junior  class. 

le  ysars  which  followed  the  time  of  his  leaving 
^oUege,  until  the  moment  when  he  decided  on  embrac- 
ing the  profession  to  which  he  devoted  the  rest  of  his 
life,  seem  to  have  been  passed  in  desultory  reading, 
^nd  above  all,  in  that  favorite  amusement  of  boys  of  a 
reflective  and  serious  turn  of  mind  —  day-dreaming. 
Part  of  this  time  was  passed  at  Smithfield.  In  a  manu- 
script autobiography,  written  about  two  years  ago,  he 
thus  speaks  of  his  residence  in  that  place  : 

'  During  the  winter  I  lived  there,  I  kept  a  school  for 
the  young  cubs  of  the  vicinage.  Scarce  one  of  them 
is  likely  to  be  now  living,  after  the  lapse  of  seventy-two 
years,  to  vouch  for  the  prodigious  learning  of  this  peda- 
gogue of  sixteen.  This,  and  some  services  rendered  in 
the  clerk's  office,  were,  I  believe,  the  first  productive 
labor  I  ever  performed.  Many  circumstances  of  this 
short  but  interesting  period  of  my  life,  have  suggested 
the  thought  of  revisiting  the  locality,  but  experience 
has  taught  me  the  futility  of  such  attempts  to  revive 
the  past  and  gone.  The  probability  is,  that  instead  of 
the  waving  oak  beneath  whose  shade,  and  the  limpid 
stream  and  beautiful  cascade,  by  the  side  of  which  I 
had  so  often  read  to  the  listening  Dryads,  my  only 
hearers,  portions  of  Homer  or  Milton,  with  the  varied 


376  MEMOIR    OF    THE 

intonations  they  inspired,  I  should  now  find  the  stream 
converted  into  a  stagnant  mill-pond,  and  the  venerable 
oak  reduced  to  lumber  about  a  paltry  saw-mill.  And 
could  I  even  find  it  materidlly  unchanged,  my  old  eyes 
and  cold  heart  could  probably  only  correspond  with  it 
in  the  penitential  note  of  the  poor  bird,  who  used  to  sit 
upon  the  door-step  of  my  humble  dwelling  on  a  sum- 
mer's eve,  and  reiterate  his  self-abandonment  —  whip- 
poor-will  —  the  note  most  congenial  with  my  feelings 
in  these  latter  years  of  my  life  ! ' 

Of  the  books  which  he  read  at  that  time,  Pope'n 
works  seem  to  have  been  his  favorite.     In  the  same 
manuscript  from  which  we  have  just  quoted,  he  thus 
speaks  of  that  author : 

*■  I  bepame  familiar  with  his  works  at  an  early  age, 
and  have  never  ceased  to  be  familiar  with  them.  Be- 
sides their  intrinsic  merit,  they  led  me  to  an  acquaint- 
ance with  his  contemporaries,  in  what  has  been  called 
the  Augustan  age  of  English  literature.  I  record  this 
especially  as  an  event  in  my  life,  for,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  I  think  I  can  say  with  truth,  no  writer  has  had 
so  much  influence  on  my  tone  of  thinking  of  men  and 
things.  .  .  .  The  extreme  liberality  of  senti- 
ments happily  expressed,  on  subjects  which  have  a 
bearing  on  religion,  compared  to  the  narrow  and  secta- 
rian doctrines  I  was  accustomed  to  hear,  probably  gave 
my  mind  an  early  bias  to  those  of  "  his  philosopher 
and  friend,''''  Bolingbroke.  On  these  subjects,  as  far 
as  I  can  trace  the  history  of  my  own  mind,  I  think  I 
was  not  much  the  wiser  or  better  for  Pope.  But  as  a 
writer  who  unites  poetry  with  wit  and    good   sense, 


LATE    DR.    WHEATON.  377 

he  is  still,  in  my  estimation,  unequalled,  the  English 
Horace.  If  his  thoughts  arc  not  al\jfays  new  or  origi- 
nal, they  were  never  so  well  expressed  ;  there  is  no 
sentiment  or  reflection  on  human  nature,  on  man  or 
manners,  no  happy  combination  of  words  in  the  Eng- 
lish language  which  may  not  be  found  in  some  part  or 
other  of  his  works.' 

In  1778,  Dr.  Wheaton  entered  the  military  hospital 
in  this  city  as  a  volunteer  and  assistant  of  the  medical 
staff  of  the  army.  He  had,  amidst  the  other  books 
whith  he  had  read,  perused  quite  a  number  of  medi- 
cal works,  the  principal  of  which  were  Cheselden's 
Anatomy,  Boerhaave's  Aphorisms,  and  Vansweiten's 
Commentaries,  the  standard  works  of  that  time.  He 
had  also  a  chance  of  seeing  something  of  thq  practice 
of  a  friend  and  neighbor.  Dr.  Hewes.  Thus,  although 
his  knowledge  of  the  science  must  have  been  slight,  he 
seems  to  have  done  good  service  at  the  hospital  under 
the  direction  of  Dr.  Francis  Hagan.  At  the  close  of 
this  year  he  was  confined  for  some  time  by  a  fever. 
We  cannot  refrain  from  quoting  the  touching  language 
in  which,  at  the  age  of  eighty-eight,  he  recalls  his  sen- 
sations during  his  recovery. 

'  Convalescing  slowly  from  this  in  the  spring,  I  well 
remember  the  first  short  ride  I  took  with  my  sister. 
Never,  at  any  period  of  my  life,  do  I  recollect  having 
so  sensibly  felt  the  pleasure  of  existence.  No  language 
which  I  have  at  my  disposal,  can  express  it.  Whence 
was  this  ?  Not  surely  from  the  scene  or  the  surrounding 
objects,  through  which  I  have  passed  since  a  thousand 
25 


378  MEMOIR   OF   THE 

times  without  any  peculiar  pleasure.  It  was  then  from 
unthin,  from  the  buoyancy  of  youth  perhaps,  or  that 
happy  state  of  my  organization,  which,  just  now  re- 
lieved from  painful  sickness,  like  tlie  ^Eolian  harp,  was 
responsive  to  the  lightest  airs  of  heaven.  Old  people 
know  nothing  —  feel  nothing  of  the  kind.     Alas ! ' 

The  summer  of  1779  he  passed  at  Westerly,  study- 
ing medicine  with  Dr.  Babcock.  Of  his  residence 
there,  he  has  left  an  account  in  a  letter  addressed  to 
Mr.  Updike,  and  published  by  that  gentleman  in  his 
'  History  of  the  Narragansett  Church.'  In  the  follow-  * 
ing  year  he  completed  his  medical  studies  under  the 
care  of  Dr.  William  Bowen,  of  Providence,  and  re- 
ceived his  degree. 

During  the  two  succeeding  years  he  was  engaged  in 
the  public  service,  being  employed  as  surgeon  on  board 
the  private  armed  ships,  which  then  constituted  almost 
our  only  navy.  In  the  autumn  of  1782,  while  cruising 
off  the  southern  coast,  he  was  taken  prisoner  by  the 
British  frigate  Vestal  and  carried  into  New  York.  The 
charge  of  one  of  the  prison-hospital  ships  (the  Fal- 
mouth) was  entrusted  to  him  for  some  months,  and  it 
was  always  with  pleasure  that  he  recalled,  that  it  had 
thus  been  in  his  power  to  render  some  good  offices  to 
his  imprisoned  countrymen. 

At  the  close  of  the  war,  he  was  invited  by  the  first 
settlers  in  the  town  of  Hudson,  in  the  State  of  New 
York,  composed  of  wealthy  gentlemen  from  Nan- 
tucket, Martha's  Vineyard,  and  Providence,  to  establish 
himself  among  them.  This  invitation  was  accepted, 
and   after  remaining   a   few   months   at   Hudson,  he 


LATB   DR.    WHEATON.  379 

returned  to  Providence,  and  was  married  at  Newport 
by  the  Rev.  Samuel  Hopkins,  in  1784,  to  Martha  Bur- 
rill,  to  whom  he  had  been  engaged  for  some  time 
previous.  He  immediately  went  back  to  Hudson  with 
his  young  wife,  and  resided  there  until  the  summer  of 
1795,  when  he  removed  with  his  family  to  New  York. 
He  remained  two  years  in  that  city,  when  he  was 
induced  by  the  urgent  solicitations  of  his  friends  to 
return  to  Providence,  there  to  practise  his  profession. 
Here,  with  the  exception  of  occasional  visits  to  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  country,  he  continued  to  live  until  his 
death.  Had  he  remained  in  the  State  of  New  York, 
his  name  would  unquestionably  have  been  more  widely 
known.  Whilst  there  he  associated  with  the  most  dis- 
tinguished men  of  the  day,  Alexander  Hamilton,  Aaron 
Burr,  Ambrose  Spencer,  the  Van  Rensselaers,  &c.,  and 
it  is  highly  probable  that  his  ardent  and  impetuous  tem- 
perament would  have  led  him  to  take  an  active  part  in 
politics.  As  it  was,  however,  he  confined  himself  to 
the  arduous  duties  of  his  profession,  in  which  the  last 
fifty  years  of  his  life  were  almost  exclusively  spent. 
Of  this  period  the  only  record  is  his  thoughts  on  various 
subjects  scattered  among  his  papers,  and  occasional 
political  articles,  published  either  in  the  New  York  or 
Providence  journals.  At  the  time  of  the  last  war  with 
England  he  was  a  constant  contributor  to  the  *  Na- 
tional Advocate^''  a  paper  then  edited  in  New  York  by 
his  son-in-law. 

During  these  fifty  years,  he  had  his  share  of  the 
afflictions  and  sorrows  of  human  life.  His  home  was 
more  than  once  made  desolate  by  the  Angel  of  Death. 
Two  beloved  sons  were  taken  from  him  in  the  flower 


380  MEMOIR    OF    THE 

of  their  youth,  the  one  in  1817,  tlic  other  in  1828.  In 
1837,  he  lost  his  wife,  and  three  years  ago,  at  a  time 
when  his  age  seemed  to  designate  him  as  the  first  of 
his  family  who  was  to  pass  from  this  scene  of  suffering 
•to  a  better  world,  it  pleased  God  to  send  him  an  afflic- 
tion —  perhaps  the  heaviest  he  had  ever  had  to  bear  — 
from  which  he  never  recovered. 

Taken  as  a  whole,  however,  his  life  may  be  said  to 
have  been  as  happy  as  that  of  most  men.  With  the 
exception  of  a  bronchial  affection,  with  which  he  had 
been  more  or  less  troubled  during  the  greater  portion 
of  his  life,  his  health  was  good,  and  in  the  riclies  of 
his  well-stored  memory  or  the  new  thoughts  suggested 
by  his  daily  reading,  he  found  a  never-failing  resource 
against  the  sad  recollections  of  the  past,  or  the  dark 
forebodings  of  the  future,  which  would  at  times  intrude 
themselves  on  his  mind. 

The  reflections  on  men,  things  and  books,  to  be 
found  among  his  papers,  are  full  of  interest,  and  show 
a  vigor  and  comprehensiveness  of  mind  which  make  it 
a  matter  of  serious  regret  that  his  powers  should  not 
have  been  bestowed  on  the  composition  of  some  work 
which  might  have  given  him  a  lasting  reputation.  No 
one  more  deeply  lamented  than  he  did  himself  not 
having  left  some  such  monument  of  his  talents  and 
acquirements.  In  his  journal,  October  1,  1850,  he 
says: 

*  I  never  had  more  of  the  cacoethes  scribendi,  and 
never  less  power  to  indulge  it.  "  Procrastination  is 
the  thief  of  time,""  as  I  have  often  said,  and  now  feel. 
I  once  had  head  and  hand  to  do  something  in  this  way ; 


LATE    DR.    WHEATON.  381 

now  I  have  neither.     I  once  had  the  vanity  to  quote 
Virgil : 

.     .     .     "  Tentanda  via  est  qua  me  quoque  possim 
Tollere  humo." 

*  But  it  has  proved  a  dream,  and  like  the  visions 
which  pass  through  the  ivory  gates  of  the  Past,  never 
realized,  but  long  since  lost  and  forgotten.  Instead  of 
concentrating  my  thoughts  on  one  interesting  subject, 
turning  it  from  side  to  side  in  every  point  of  view,  con- 
sidering it  in  all  its  bearings  and  relations,  until  I  had 
made  myself  master  of  it ;  in  short,  instead  of  writing 
a  hook,  which  might  have  done  honor  to  my  name  and 
memory,  I  live  to  regret  that  I  have  wasted  days  and 
years,  and  midnight  oil,  in  desultory  reading,  with  little 
Other  object  than  present  amusement,  with  a  mind 
passive  rather  than  active,  my  brain  a  thoroughfare  for 
other  men's  thoughts  without  exacting  toll.  For  the 
health  of  the  mind,  as  well  as  of  the  body,  due  atten'- 
tion  should  be  paid,  not  only  to  the  quality  and  quantity 
of  food  taken,  but  to  the  time  and  space  allotted  for 
digestion.  The  brain,  as  well  as  the  stomach,  may  be 
overloaded.  Selection  and  method  are  important  to 
both ;  not  all  minds  are  omnivorous,  yet  the  majority  of 
readers  are  blinded  by  the  opposite  conceit.' 

But  although  a  matter  of  regret,  it  is  not  surprising 
that,  devoted  as  he  was,  during  the  best  years  of  hia 
life,  to  a  profession  which  leaves  little  leisure  by  day 
or  little  rest  by  night,  he  should  not  have  found  time  to 
write  a  book,  such  as,  with  his  fastidious  taste,  he  would 
have  been  willing  to  give  to  the  public.  Of  the  high 
26 


IMS  MEMOIR   OF   TH£ 

jense  he  had  of  the  obligations  of  his  respoosible  pro- 
fession, and  its  overwhelming  and  all-absorbing  cares, 
his  journal  gives  abundant  proof.  We  find  the  follow- 
ing entry  under  date  of  October  3,  1840  : 

*I  have,  at  present,  two  patients  for  whom  I  feel 
jDQuch  anxiety.  It  is  one  of  the  miseries  of  a  medical 
.man  to  meet  with  cases  he  cannot  cure,  and  of  ,the 
^ue  of  which  he  is  at  least  very  doubtful,  and  pain- 
/ully  to  forebode  the  complicated  sufferings  of  a  be- 
ixeaved  family.  How  often,  alas !  has  my  heart  been 
jyrung  in  this  way  for  the  last  fifty  years,  and  yet  I  am 
Atill  in  the  land  of  the  living  !  It  is,  indeed,  a  painful 
jesponsibility  to  see  ourselves  looked  up  to  as  guardian 
Ungels,  and  to  feel  our  insufficiency,  our  utter  inability 
.to  save  the  victim  of  disease.  As  far  as  I  can  analyze 
joay  own  feelings,  they  are  for  the  most  part  disinter- 
ested ;  Homo  sum  !  —  but  sometimes,  and  often,  the 
.fought  will  obtrude  itself:  "Am  I  not  defeated  and 
disgraced  ?  If  my  conscience  assures  me  of  good 
intentions,  were  those  intentions  medically  good .?  were 
j4hey  fairly  fulfilled }  or  were  there  not  some  erroRS 
^tt<8  incuria  fudit  1  or  after  all,  will  public  opinion 
jiupport  me  ?  how  will  it  affect  my  living  ?  my  reputa- 
tion —  that  fancied  life  in  others  breath  ?  "  Ah  !  what 
ft  life  Is  that  of  a  physician  ! ' 

An  interesting  and  instructive  volume  might  be  made 
d£  the  reflections  to  be  found  in  his  journal  and  com- 
monplace books.  Up  to  the  last  days  of  his  life  he 
plained  his  faculties  unimpaired,  reading,  from  seven 
tif  eight  hours  a  day,  all  the  new  works  which,  came 


LATE    DK.    WHEATON.  383 

out,  and  commenting  on  them  in  his  note-book.  The 
last  entry  we  have  found  in  this  note-book  is  date«^ 
August  20th,  only  eight  days  before  his  death.  In  it 
he  notices  Mr.  William  Ware's  late  publication  on  thef 
Capitals  of  Europe,  and  alludes  especially  to  the  pre- 
face, in  which  the  author  condemns  our  disagreeable 
national  habit  of  chewing  tobacco.  As  an  instance  of 
the  manner  in  which  Dr.  Wheaton  endeavored  to  profit, 
even  at  his  advanced  age,  by  any  use  fill  advice,  we 
would  mention  that  he  himself  renounced  this  habit,  in 
which  he  had  freely  indulged  for  many  years,  in  con- 
sequence of  reading  this  passage. 

We  must  close  this  hasty  and  incomplete  notice  6t 
Dr.  Wheaton,  by  a  couple  of  extracts  from  his  journal 
on  the  subject  of  religion.  In  a  note  relative  to  the 
letter  of  a  young  friend  who  had  exhorted  him  to  adopt 
the  orthodox  creed,  he  says : 

'  I  briefly  observed  that  I  had  not  lived  so  long  un- 
mindful of  "  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus,"  nor  of  its  ad- 
mirable fitness  to  the  wants  and  weaknesses  of  our 
iiature,  regarding  the  spirit  rather  than  the  letter,  nor 
of  the  internal  evidence  it  bears  of  the  only  true  relig- 
ion —  the  religion  of  the  heart  which  man  owes  and 
God  requires  of  all  who  look  for  happiness  here  or 
hereafter ;  that  if  my  faith  in  the  letter  had  not  always 
been  so  firm  and  unqualified  in  every  respect,  as  that 
of  many  of  my  friends,  whom  I  envied,  (for  a  state  of 
doubt  on  so  momentous  a  subject  was  not  an  easy 
Statfe,)  I  could  only  say  what  others  had  said,  "  Lord, 
help  thou  my  unbelief." '  He  then  adds  that  such  a 
correspondence  might  be  profitable  to  both  parties: 


SM:  MEMOIR   OF  THE 

*•  to  me  by  keeping  me  in  mind  of  that  sleep  of  death 
which  awaits  me ;  to  her  by  reminding  her  that  true 
religion  does  not  consist  in  the  lip  service  or  formu- 
laries of  the  church." 

In  another  note  he  says  : 

*  Confidence  in  any  creed  which  assures  the  believer 
of  a  happy  immortality,  is  doubtless  of  all  consolations 
the  greatest,  whilst  doubt  and  uncertainty  on  so  inter- 
esting a  subject  are  confessedly  painful.  But  belief  is 
not  a  voluntary  act.  Facts  palpable,  self-evident  or 
demonstrative,  we  cannot  disbelieve  ;  such  as  accord 
with  our  experience  or  attentive  reflection  we  readily 
admit  as  probable  ;  but  the  testimony  or  traditions  of 
fallible  men,  concerning  things  extraordinary  and 
supernatural,  without  the  strongest  internal  evidence 
of  their  truths,  we  may  be  permitted  to  receive  with 
some  degree  of  hesitation.' 

From  these  extracts  it  will  be  seen,  that  if  he  did  not 
belong  to  any  particular  body  of  Christians,  he  believed 
in  the  spirit  of  Christianity.  Indeed,  his  whole  life 
was  marked  by  the  truest  reverence  for  the  religious 
institutions  under  which  he  lived.  He  never  lost  that 
respect  for  religion  which  he  acquired  from  his  parents, 
although  his  religious  views  had  nothing  of  that  sec- 
tarian spirit  which  marked  those  of  his  family.  His 
death  was  that  of  a  believer.  However  much  he  may 
have  desired  to  have  his  life  prolonged  —  for  the  love 
of  life  increases  with  years  —  he  did  not  fear  to  die. 
Retaining  his  consciousness  until  the  last,  he  p^assed 


LATE    DR.    WHEATON.  385 

away  so  quietly  that  the  bystanders  could  hardly  say 
at  what  moment  his  spirit  had  taken  its  flight.  Such  a 
death  is  indeed  to  be  envied  !  After  a  life  prolonged 
far  beyond  the  usual  allotment  of  mankind,  his  bright 
and  lofty  spirit  was  transferred  without  a  struggle  to  a 
new  and  better  sphere  of  activity,  where,  untrammelled 
by  the  infirmities  of  the  body,  and  free  from  all  the 
petty  cares  and  anxieties  of  this  world,  with  which  it 
was  ill  calculated  to  contend,  it  may  develope  itself 
from  age  to  age,  until  it  becomes  more  and  more  as- 
similated to  that  Being  in  whose  image  it  was  created. 


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